


Fire, Smoke, and Winter

by TheMarvelousMinniPin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Brock Rumlow, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta Bucky Barnes, Betrayal, Commander Rogers, Commander Rumlow, Courting Rituals, Emotionally Insecure Steve, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Threesome, Fall of SHIELD, Future Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow, He gets better when his head levels off, I do what I want, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Nesting, Not Canon Compliant, Omega Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Redeemable Rumlow, Rumlow isn't that bad, Rut, Skin Hunger, Strike - Freeform, Strike Team Delta, The Asset - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved, Triple Agent, all the snuggles, courting, m/m - Freeform, slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMinniPin/pseuds/TheMarvelousMinniPin
Summary: The twenty-first century sees Steve alone and hurting. His STRIKE unit is really all he has. The worst thing about this time, other than not having Bucky, is that no one ever touches Steve. It isn't normal now like it was in the '40s. He misses it. Touch-hunger is a thing, especially for an Omega.He ends up doing a complicated dance with his STRIKE co-commander, Brock Rumlow, to get what he needs without scaring the Alpha off....or leading him on. Eventually they settle into a somewhat comfortable routine. And it just gets more comfortable as time goes on. He finally starts to move on, move forward with his life. Then the helicarriers come crashing down around him and he has to deal with the weight of being betrayed by everyone he cared about most.He...he had bonded with Brock. And Brock betrayed him. Brock held his first Alpha hostage. But how had their bond broken if Bucky was still alive? And why was Bucky flinching away from him, and curling into Brock's arms?Shit for summary, in my typical style.





	1. Chapter 1

The 21st century was an…adjustment. Yeah. Let’s go with adjustment. Everyone somehow managed to be all in each other’s lives with social media, but they were still completely isolated when it came right down to it. Steve was used to a casual arm thrown over his shoulder whenever Bucky entered a room; a clap on the back from Dugan; a hug from Mrs. Barnes; Peggy casually tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. Now, no one touches him at all if they can avoid it.

It’s okay, Steve tells himself. Times change. People nowadays are just used to never being allowed to touch each other. It’s assault. It’s groping. You don’t touch people you don’t know, don’t know well, and never if they don’t want you to. That’s not a terrible thing. It’s great, really. People shouldn’t be touched if they don’t want it. But Steve does want it. Maybe that’s why he has been feeling so itchy under the skin. Touch hunger is a thing, according to the Google.

“And do you think being around the Alphas in STRIKE might also be contributing to that?” Dr. de Vega, the SHIELD psychiatrist, asked Steve when he explained that.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it America had gone from friendly touching and not talking about designations, to talking way too much about designations and not touching anyone? Why? And why did this have to happen to Steve?

“It can’t be easy for you,” Dr. de Vega prompted.

“I’m sure it’s worse for other people.”

“Steve.”

“I know, I’m sorry. No, Ma’am, it isn’t easy for me to be around all of the Alphas in STRIKE all the time. I spend twelve hours a day with them, six days a week. They all know that I’m an Omega, but they don’t say anything. At least not to me. Small blessings.” Steve leaned his head against the high backed chair. He didn’t really want to look the doctor in the eye right now. She was wonderful, absolutely, and he had been much less lost since he started seeing her. But sometimes she saw too much, more than what he wanted her to see. It was like he posted everything on Facebook, and she liked and commented on it all.

Steve had deleted his Facebook account after one day.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the founder of STRIKE was an Omega. A particularly vicious woman named Eleanor. STRIKE probably understand better than most that designation doesn’t beat determination.You said you feel like they have at least mostly accepted you, right?” Dr. de Vega asked.

“They do….but only because Rumlow does.” Steve’s throat went dry. Brock Rumlow. STRIKE Ops Commander. Owner of the only not-strictly-necessary hand to have touched Steve since coming out of the ice. He was a boisterous fella, all confident energy, lively sloe eyes, and flashing white teeth. When Fury went to introduce them, Rumlow bowled him over immediately.

“Brock Rumlow,” was nearly Steve’s size. Coal black hair, tanned olive skin, hint of a 5 o’clock shadow on a face that was probably usually Army smooth. He scooped up Steve’s right hand in his own in a firm shake, then added his left to give Steve a squeeze. Then that hand moved up to clasp Steve’s shoulder in a very casually intimate gesture. And Steve was just glad Rumlow was holding onto him so thoroughly, because he was nearly knocked down from the overwhelming smell of Alpha, and the heady rush of physical contact.

“S-Steve Rogers,” and he smiled back, because Rumlow didn’t look the slightest bit worried that he would be too modern and Steve would snap in half. Or whatever it was about him that seemed to worry Clint and Maria and Natasha and whoever else. Rumlow was a soldier, not a spy, like how Steve was a soldier and not a spy. Something about him was just easier. And that’s how Steve met his first friend in the 21st century.

“Rumlow?” Dr. de Vega asked. “Brock Rumlow?”

“Yeah, him,” Steve said. “He’s the commander. Not just of Delta squad, but of all of STRIKE Ops. They trust him, they trust his judgement. He’s probably earned it a few hundred times over, you know, under fire. So he tells them to work with me, and they do. It has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with him.”

“But Rumlow surely wouldn’t tell them to accept you if he didn’t. You must have proven yourself to him.”

“Everyone knows the Captain America stories,” Steve huffed. His greatest worry with everyone he met: Always the Captain, never the Steve. Everyone wanted him to be the famous hero from WWII, and they only wanted him to be the guy they grew up with. They didn’t want Steve.

“Do you really think that would be enough for Commander Rumlow to risk his men’s lives on?” Dr. de Vega asked. “I know his professional profile very well, and I can tell you at least this much: Commander Rumlow would never chance his men or his missions on someone incompetent.”

“What else could it be?” Steve shot back.

“I suggest you ask Commander Rumlow yourself.” The doctor closed her notebook –a computer thing in the shape of a book, not an actual notebook- signaling the end of the session. “And don’t worry so much about wanting to be touched. Believe it or not, I think most people in this time want to have that contact as well. We’re just used to it being taboo. Try it with someone. Ask. You may be surprised.”

Right. That would happen.

 

 

Steve’s emotional baggage was vintage, and he preferred the 1940’s suffer in silence method.

He worked 12 hours a day, six days a week with STRIKE. He attended an endless number of meetings with Fury, Pierce, and all the other head honchos who wanted him at his start spangledest for the press. He went to the grocery store. He went to the apartment SHIELD had rented for him. He cooked dinner and then he ate it. He went on the internet and googled things and tried to get up to date with life. NASA’s website and National Geographic were his best friends. Then he collapsed into bed, and did it all again.

He clawed his arms at night, too.

Steve missed Bucky. He missed his Alpha. But Bucky was gone and the bond was broken and Steve was on suppressants so that other Alphas wouldn’t bother him.

He absolutely did not let his fingers brush Rollins’ when he passed him a cup of coffee.

He absolutely did not walk a little too close to McDonald to brush against his broad shoulders.

He absolutely did not lean into Rumlow on the hard benches of the transport plane on the way home from a hard mission, wanting, needing some kind of comfort while his brain was trying to rip itself apart.

He absolutely didn’t do any of those things, as much as he fantasized that he did, and everyone was starting to notice.

“You alright, Cap?” Rumlow asked, three days after that mission. Two STRIKE operatives had had their names added to the memorial wall. Another was in the hospital, and would probably join them. Rumlow seemed to be bearing the burden well, like any good soldier, but there wasn’t anyone who would dare say it didn’t affect him.

“Steve,” Steve corrected. He wanted to be Steve. He was Captain America, but he was Steve Rogers too. But Captain America was flashing red, white, and blue, and Steve was invisible. No one saw him behind the shield and the fireworks and the Born on the Fourth of July.

“Are you alright, _Steve_?” Yeah, Rumlow wasn’t going to let him deflect that easily. Bastard. And Steve wondered –if I remind him enough, will he start to look for Steve? But Brock didn’t need Steve, STRIKE didn’t need Steve, everyone needed Captain America. Steve breathed out hard.

“That last assignment was rough.” Short. Sweet. To the point.

Rumlow barked out a laugh. “That’s an understatement, but okay.” He clasped Steve’s shoulder and steered him towards his office, and Steve probably didn’t keep in that whine quite as well as he would have liked. Rumlow probably thought he hit a sore muscle, because he started squeezing and rolling his hand in a simple massage. Steve gagged on a moan and wished Rumlow would stop as much as he wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt so that he could feel the contact skin-to-skin. Rumlow closed his office door and nudged Steve into a chair. He then pulled one forward for himself, seated with their knees maybe three inches apart, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you going to keep insulting my intelligence?”

“I- that’s not –I’m not –I-“

“Slow down. Deep breaths. Start again.” Rumlow’s commanding presence helped. He looked concerned. Genuinely concerned. Like he cared or something.

And it kind of just fell out: “Why do you trust me?”

People kept asking Steve for an autobiography. He was thinking of “That Wasn’t Supposed to Happen” as the title.

Rumlow blinked. Straightened up. “Okay. That’s not really what we’re talking about, but I’m guessing that must have been bothering you for a while.” Steve wanted to disappear. He wanted to go back in time and not ask that question. Not let Rumlow take him into his office. Hide his feelings better. Die in the ice. Better yet, fall off a train in the Alps and die with Bucky. He could’ve died in Bucky’s arms, if he had just jumped. “What’s your concern with this?” Brock asked. “Is it just that you think we’re all going off of your reputation from the ‘40s, like you’re just the guy on the poster?”

Wow. Way to hit the nail on the head. Steve nodded. “I guess that make sense. You’ve got a badass reputation Ca-Steve. Not gonna lie, I had Captain America comics as a kid. We all grew up hearing about the great hero, the great soldier, the great leader Captain America. But I can assure you that that doesn’t mean shit when it comes to my men and our missions. For all we knew, that could’ve all been propaganda, like when the Brits tried to hide their use of sonar by saying carrots gave their pilots good eyesight. But I watched the videos of you fighting in New York with my own two eyes. I read the reports, all of the first-hand accounts. I talked to Hill, Romanoff, and Barton for hours. It was like I had read your resume, but then I got to see you prove it. If I hadn’t seen you fight in New York, we all probably would have given you a much harder time. I might not have let Fury place you in STRIKE at all.”

Steve nodded again. “I’m sorry. I just….” He didn’t know how to finish.

“Nah, man, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. D’you think it’s like that for George Clooney when he’s trying to make friends? Do they like him, or do they like that he’s famous?” Brock flashed that grin, and Steve softened up a bit. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s been going on these past few days?” Brock asked again.

And cue Steve clamming back up. “I told you. It was a hard mission.”

“Yeah, it was,” Brock agreed. “Call it intuition, but I think it’s more than that.” Steve kept quiet. Brock sighed. “C’mon, man. If we’re gonna be a team, if we’re gonna lead STRIKE together, you’ve gotta learn to trust me. I ain’t gonna bite you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Steve said through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t he just leave it be?

“I just want you to tell me what’s bothering you. The truth. You never know, I might be able to help you.” He moved to put a hand on Steve, but Steve jerked back.

“No!” He meant “No, you can’t help me” not “No, don’t touch me” but Brock still yanked his hand back like he’d been burned. For a moment, he looked a little hurt.

He frowned for a moment, then “You don’t like being touched? That’s what it is. This whole time, you’ve been doing everything possible to make sure no one touches you.” No. No no no no no no no. Way to totally miss the nail just because Steve was pointing in the wrong direction. Steve opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but how did you say “Please don’t not touch me, I need it, but please don’t touch me, I can’t handle it?” “I’m sorry, man.” Brock looked almost stunned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just a friendly guy, probably too friendly, and in STRIKE we are all just way too close to each other. I’ve seen Rollins’ naked ass more than one person should ever have to. But I’ll stop. I’ll find a subtle way to let everyone else know. If you’ve got a touch aversion, I won’t touch you anymore-“

“No!” _Damn it, Steve._ He took a breath and tried again. “It’s…not that? That’s not the problem.” That’s the opposite of the problem. “I’m not trying to be obstinate, but I don’t really know how to describe it.”

The brunet nodded. He looked relieved, if Steve was reading him right. He wasn’t as open as he had been just a few minutes ago. “Fair enough. Just know I’m here if you figure it out.”

“Right. Yeah, thanks.”

Silenced lapsed for a moment, then Brock asked “Do you have many other friends here?”

“What?”

“I’m not meaning to pry, man, but this job is intense. Most of the guys are bonded, and that really helps them out, going home to their mates, but you have to have a life outside of the job. You have to live and breathe it while you’re here, but you have to be able to switch it off while you’re not. Otherwise, it’ll eat you alive.”

“I have a few I guess.”

“You don’t know if you have friends?” Brock cocked an eyebrow.

“I guess that’s probably its own answer,” Steve said ruefully. “No, I don’t really have any friends. It’s the George Clooney problem. Everything is so different now. Everyone is different. People think I’m strange, and I think they’re strange, and Fury wants me to submit anyone I get close to for a background check.”

“Well I’ve already had my background check. Came back pretty clean,” Brock smiled. “I mean I thought we were… but I guess not. Shouldn’t’ve assumed.” Huh? Brock thought they were what? Friends? _Did Brock consider them friends?_ Did that mean they could be? “Anyway,” the commander had the same look on his face that he had when he’d pulled his hand back from Steve. “You can always come hang out with me, if you get lonely or bored.”

That sounded wonderful. Steve wanted that. He wanted to grab Brock’s schedule and pencil himself in so that he could have something to look forward to. He’d probably end up counting the minutes like some pathetic creep, but at least he would have something to be counting to. Could he put himself on there more than once? If he made an appointment, would Brock keep it? _Mr. Rumlow, your 7:00 is here for pizza and beer and basic human contact._ Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Brock was nice to offer, really nice, but Steve was a metric fuckton of work and problems and he couldn’t dump that onto someone else. Poor guy was just friendly, he didn’t know what he would be getting into with Steve. Steve would do something stupid, would want to see him too often, would lean in and lean against him and shiver at the contact, and Brock would get uncomfortable and they wouldn’t even be able to work together anymore, and Steve would lose STRIKE, and that was the only thing he had anymore. So, no.

“Thank you, but-“

“No excuses, Rogers,” Brock cut in. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I think you do. So if you’re about to make some kind of protest about it inconveniencing me, or you butting in outside of work, just save it. I wouldn’t have offered if it was a problem.” Brock reached a hand towards Steve’s, but hesitated. Steve’s hand unconsciously twitched forward, just a fraction of a centimeter. The commander scooped his hand up, like when they first met, and the blond had to swallow a few times around the lump in his throat.

 _It…This…Wow_. The touch shot through him, straight to that very Omega part of his brain that even the suppressants couldn’t turn off. It said _Shh shh shhh, I’m here, it’s okay_. It was pure comfort. Brock’s hand was warm. Hot. Alphas run hot. Just one of the many ways they’re _biologically designed_ to care for Omegas. Layers of thick callouses covered his palms and fingers, scratching at Steve’s serum-soft skin, but even that felt nice. Brock stroked his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand comfortingly. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of their joined hand. He was trembling. And then that bastard asked, whispered out on half a breath, like he didn’t even know he was saying it “How bad do you need this, Steve?”

Steve looked up. Met Rumlow’s eyes. It was all confusion and concern and desire to help. Steve jerked his hand back and stood up. Some noise gurgled in the back of his throat. He walked out of Rumlow’s office. Out of the STRIKE floor to the elevator, down to his motorcycle, and he went straight to his apartment and barricaded himself inside.

He stripped out of his suffocating clothes and buried himself under the soft, weighted, heated blanket on his bed. (A wordless gift from Maria Hill, who knew perfectly well how stressful it was to be an Omega in SHIELD.) Hours or minutes or days passed, and Steve’s phone buzzed.

When he could finally make himself move, he checked the text message.

Brock Rumlow: When you can, please let me know you’re ok. I’m sorry.

 

 

Steve was back at work the next day, and no one brought up him leaving early the day before. No one treated him any differently. No one watched him any closer. No one called him Cap again. No one called him anything but Steve.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the positive reviews! I know this is a total guilty pleasure pairing. I adore it. It gives me the snuggles. I am finishing up Chapter 5 at this time. After this chapter, the next chapter will not be posted until the latest one is written. So Chapter 3 won't be published until I'm done with Chapter 6. That's how I'm going to force myself to write. Hopefully that will result in a rate of one chapter written + one chapter published every week to week-and-a-half.
> 
> Also, for those of you who are waiting for Bucky, he probably won't show up until closer to Chapter 10. 
> 
> Please see endnote for some worldbuilding info!

Steve knew that Rumlow knew he was avoiding him. Steve was a soldier, not a spy. Subtlety was not his strong suit. Natasha could probably give him pointers, but then he’d have to explain why, because Natasha liked to trade, and her currency was information.

None of the other operatives acted any differently. None of them tried to avoid touching him, so their commander must not have said anything. But the man himself made very sure not to touch Steve. Jerk had correctly read all of the wrong signals that Steve had sent his way. Alphas always told Omegas “We’re not mind readers. You have to tell us what you want.” But wouldn’t life be so much easier if they were?

Steve couldn’t worry about that right now. Couldn’t avoid Rumlow right now. They were on a quinjet to Borneo to intercept a weapons shipment. A terrorist organization calling itself “The Nine” was planning an uprising on the island, and their government was spread a bit thin. Since the leader of The Nine had ties to another terrorist cell that was making plans to attack the US, SHIELD had offered to send STRIKE in, in return for being able to interrogate him.

Steve was very glad he would have no part in the interrogation. That wasn’t STRIKE work. That was more on Natasha’s side of things.

Rumlow was watching a holographic landscape map that was projecting up between their seats. It was a gift from Starke Industries; one of Rumlow’s favorites.

(“We’ve got guns, Cap,” Rumlow had said. “There’s only so much you can improve on those. And STRIKE doesn’t need any damn Jericho missiles. But stuff like this? A 3D, real time, intensely detailed terrain map that can also chart out urban areas? Do you have any idea how many lives this might save!”)

The blue light reflected off of Rumlow’s eyes, caught shadows under his cheekbones. His face was painted completely matte black, down his neck, all the way into his shirt. There was even a black powder that had been put into his hair, so that whatever was visible though his helmet wouldn’t catch the light. Steve was similarly made up, as was everyone else on the jet –Delta and Charlie squads.

They were going to be marching through a darkened compound about sixteen miles outside of a major city. They needed to be completely invisible until they were already inside. This was Steve’s first time wearing what had been dubbed his “stealth suit.” It was a dark midnight blue, nearly black, with a dull iron star on the chest plate. It had three stripes on either side, a new addition that he found he rather liked. The black paint covering the decal –as well as his helmet and his shield- was something R&D swore would come off with a little solvent once he got back.

The light atmosphere in the jet was broken when Rumlow sat up and said “ETA 5 minutes. Suit up, boys.” There was a flurry of movement as each of the 12-man squads began going through their checklists. Rumlow and Rollins –leader of Charlie squad- had managed to requisition night vision goggles for all of them. T-11 Low-Level Parachutes would guide them down safely. Everyone had a “jump buddy” to check their harnesses, and to check on them once they hit the ground. Steve’s jump buddy was Rumlow.

The commander sidled up to Steve as he finished buckling his harness. “Ready for inspection, Rogers?”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve said. Rumlow tested the tightness, jerked on the buckles.

“They’re solid.”

Steve repeated the inspection on him. “Good to go.”

Rumlow nodded. “You’ll be with me,” he reiterated. Then he addressed the whole group “Delta squad is in charge of apprehending as many terrorists as we can. Charlie squad is responsible for locking down the weapons. The Malaysian government has army and local police on standby once we secure the facility. When we have who we’re looking for, they get the rest.”

“Yes, Sir,” echoed through the hold. They knew what they were doing. It was going to be one hell of a march from the jump point to the compound –six miles- and then back after the fight. Steve knew he would be fine, but the other men were going to be dog tired.

Anticipation dragged it out, but eventually Rollins threw open the jump doors. “Line up,” he shouted over the roar of the wind. “Account for your jump buddy as soon as you are on the ground.” He waited for the signal to be relayed from the pilot, to Rumlow, to him. As soon as he saw the gesture, he yelled “In order now! Go, go, go!”

Rumlow was the first to jump, followed closely by Steve. It was so dark that even his enhanced vision couldn’t see anything. It took him a split second to realize why, and feel like a moron. He hadn’t turned on his goggles He fumbled with them for a moment, but there just wasn’t time to work it out. He had to pull his cord. They were too low to the ground to wait. He pulled the cord and felt a jerk behind his naval as his chute deployed.

As he floated slowly downwards, he tried to fight with the goggles again, but he didn’t know how to make the damn things work. Fine. He would just land blind. Wasn’t like this would be the first time. All these young people today, spoiled by their fancy technology. He bet they didn’t even know how to land in the dark without night vision goggles.

As he approached the ground, he could vaguely make out some shapes. One appeared to be moving, so that was probably Rumlow. He aimed over towards his jump buddy, and managed to land reasonably close, without hitting him. His knees buckled when he hit the ground, but he didn’t fall.

“Rogers?” He heard hissed on the wind.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Steve disengaged his chute, and started fighting with the goggles again.

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” Rumlow marched over to him, and got the goggled turned on in .5 seconds. “Have these been off the whole time?”

Steve really didn’t want a lecture, but he also didn’t want to lie to the squad leader. “I couldn’t get them to turn on.”

Rumlow huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll show you better on the ride back. For now, let’s hit the rendezvous point.” He had his land nav out, pointing them to the area where they would meet the other jump teams. With how they had left the plane, he and Rumlow would be scooping up over teams over the mile and a half walk to where Rollins would be waiting. From there, they would keep going to the compound.

Steve’s eyes adjusted quickly to the green glow of the night vision. And yeah, okay, these were pretty great. They started trekking along in silence, but Rumlow didn’t let that last long. “Look, Rogers, about last week-“

“Is this really the time?” Steve hissed, not wanting to have the conversation.

“Yes.” Rumlow said simply. “I didn’t mean to overstep or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Steve growled.

“Really? ‘Cuz it sure as hell seems like I did.  You’ve been doing a pretty great job of pretending I don’t exist. If you want to keep everything work-only, I understand. That’s fine,” He said ‘fine’ like it was a curse word, like it was poison in his mouth. “I ain’t gonna push ya. I’m not that kinda Alpha. I just thought you seemed lonely, like ya might want a friend. I shouldn’t have pried. Maybe I’m not the friend kind to you.” His voice trailed off, and Steve could barely hear him. “But I’ll keep it professional, I promise.”

Steve kind of wanted to hit Rumlow with his shield, to see if that would stop him from talking. “That’s not it,” He hissed. “Look, I don’t know what to say and I sure as shit don’t know how to say it.” Up ahead was the next team, McDonald and Collins, and, thankfully, the end of the conversation.

“You want me to leave you alone or not, Rogers? That’s all I’m asking. You don’t gotta figure it all out now. Sometimes I think you’re open to it, sometimes I think you hate my guts. Say the word, and I won’t so much as speak to you if it ain’t about work.” Rumlow said.

That felt like getting punched in the stomach. Steve stopped walking. Rumlow was about ten steps ahead before he noticed and turned back around. Now was so not the time for this conversation. Steve wanted to say as much, just as much as he wanted to beg Rumlow not to do that. Some days, a lot of days, Rumlow was the only person he spoke to about non-work related things. Losing that, having every single relationship in his life reduced down to the job, it made Steve sick to his stomach.

“I don’t hate you,” He said firmly. ‘Sometimes talking to you is the best part of my day,’ went unsaid, but that’s what Steve was thinking. “I want to be your friend,” He admitted. “I’m just a lot of work.”

Rumlow walked back over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” With a comforting squeeze, he pulled away again, and they made it over to McDonald and Collins.

“What was the hold up?” McDonald asked.

Rumlow laughed. “Cap thought he dropped a contact. C’mon. Time to earn our keep.”

 

The mission was mercifully easy. Turns out, The Nine was actually The Five. Their hired goons were literally asleep at the door. STRIKE wasn’t needed at all –not that they would ever admit it, because the Malaysian government was paying them a handsome fee. No casualties, no injuries, and they completed their objective. That was the highest definition of a successful mission.

The men were in high spirits the entire way back, and the friends within the squads made plans for drinks to celebrate. They always celebrated their successful missions. Never took the easy ones for granted. When Delta squad settled on a bar by the Flop House –the pre-Triskelion Strke headquarters, which was still in operation in a limited capacity- Rumlow called across the plane “You comin’, Rogers?”

Steve felt a little touch of hope when other squad members started cajoling him to come. “Yeah,” He said, maybe a little too enthusiastic. “Wouldn’t miss it!”

 

Steve fretted over his hair for a solid sixteen minutes when Saturday came and he was trying to decide how late was “fashionably late.” What the hell even was “fashionably late”? You know what was fashionable in Steve’s day? Being on time! But he had used the Google to quell his nervousness, and according to Cosmopolitan –or just Cosmo, for short- you should arrive “fashionably late” to a social gathering.

Also, there were now a dozen new ways to use a vibrator.

Steve was dressed as carefully casually as possible. No slacks and button up today! He had pulled on one of those Under Armor shirts that everyone insisted looked great on him. One of the ones that they though he didn’t know they had intentionally ordered a size too small, to emphasize his bulging muscles –yeah, one of those. And the company made shoes, too, so he wore those and a pair of jeans. Unfortunately, Under Armor didn’t make jeans. How convenient would it be to order all of his clothes from one store? That’s what the Amazon Store was for, according to Clint.

He pulled up to Brick House on his Harley. Brock’s Camaro was there, along with Collins’ F150. Aduwa drove a “very sensible” Honda Civic, and didn’t think it was at all wrong to drive a Japanese car in America. (“We’re allies now, Steve. We buy a certain number of cars from them every year, they buy a certain number of cars from us every year. Everyone smiles. The world keeps spinning. They don’t bring up the atomic bombs we dropped on their civilians.”) It looked like everyone else had carpooled in a STRIKE Escalade.

The bar was actually nice. It was dark, but it was dark because everything was wood paneled and someone had decided on mood lighting. There was a stage for a band, and a glowing liquor display behind the bar. STRIKE commandos were a common presence. It was actually run by Heather Wilson, a former commando herself. She was behind the bar tonight. “You gonna drink an entire bottle of Jack again, Honey?” She teased when he came in.

“Might as well get it out,” Steve called back. He hovered for a second –should he get a drink at the bar, or go right over to the commandos?

The problem was solved when Rumlow shouted across the bar “Hey Steve, grab me another Moscow while you’re up, will ya?”

He leaned against the bar while Heather mixed. “What’s a Moscow?”

“Moscow Mule. Vodka, ginger beer, mint, lime. Brock told me to make him a girly drink, and now he’s hooked. They’re good, wanna try one?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve knew very little about alcohol beyond that it didn’t do him much good. He didn’t care for most of it. His inability to get drunk meant that drinking swill just wasn’t worth it. Heather mixed up another, and shoved him two drinks in copper mugs. “Thanks.”

“Just make sure these guys pay their tabs, okay?”

Steve laughed and carried the drinks over to the booth Rumlow was sitting in. It was one of the big round ones and, with three chairs pulled up at the front, there was enough room for the entire squad. Rumlow excitedly took his drink. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure thing,” Steve dropped into the only empty seat –the outside edge of the booth. It was a bit of a squeeze, but it was friendly enough. Conversation immediately turned back to cars. Steve just leaned back and listened. The Moscow was good. Strong. He liked it.

“What about you, Steve? What’s your go-to muscle car?” Ramirez asked as he shredded the label on his beer. He liked to slick his hair back, drink Dos Equis, and call himself The Most Interesting Man in the World.

Steve didn’t know much about cars. He had never owned one. The first thing that popped into his head was probably the only muscle car he knew. “Camaro.”

The table exploded into good-natured ribbing. “HAHAHA! Hint-hint, Rumlow!” “Yeah, show him your baby!” “Take Cap for a _ride_.”

He might’ve usually wanted to hide his face in his hands, but this just felt so much like the Howlies that he couldn’t be bothered by it. “Well that depends,” Steve said. “What year is yours, Rumlow?” That was one thing he did know. Certain cars were better in certain years, and being new didn’t automatically make it better.

Rumlow smirked. “Only the best. 1969.”

That was met with appreciation from the men, who plowed on with the conversation. Steve tuned in and out, missing the part about the car in Transformers entirely, but getting the entire spiel on the 1966 Ford Mustang Shelby Cobra GT 351, and why it would forever be superior to all other cars. The commandos actually drank a toast to it, and Steve joined in.

Eventually they started to gather into their respective carpools to head home. “The environment can suck my dick! I’m bringing my own car next time,” Harper grumbled as he chugged his last beer. Rumlow was laughing at him, head tossed back carelessly, slowly sipping his own beer. Collins dragged Harper out by his collar. Aduwa took two more in his Honda, and it was just Brock and Steve left in the bar.

It got quiet, and that got awkward fast. Steve knew it was him. He saw how Rumlow was with other people. He was so friendly and outgoing, and Steve craved that, but Steve was so fucked up that Rumlow didn’t know how to act or what to say without setting him off. He thought about the last time they had been alone together, and wondered idly if there was a normal way to ask Rumlow to hold his hand. He couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t send his colleague running to HR.

He missed Bucky badly at that moment. His Alpha had always known how to handle him, somehow. But they had grown up together, and they were mates, so he had an advantage.

Right as he was about to make an excuse to leave for the night, Rumlow asked “You doing okay, Steve?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Rumlow grinned. “Good drinks and good company. Can’t complain.”

“Oh, well sorry to spoil that,” Steve mumbled.

Rumlow’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “You _are_ good company, Steve. You didn’t ruin anything. Everyone was glad you came out tonight.”

Steve felt his heart lift a bit. “They were?”

“Yeah, of course. We’re a tight group. We hang out together all the time. Gotta be close to the people whose lives depend on you, and who you may have to depend on with your life.”

Steve nodded. They lapsed into silence again. Tonight had been good, and he wasn’t ready for it to be over, not really. But he didn’t know what he could offer to make Rumlow stay. He didn’t know anything about cars, and he wasn’t good at talking about Omegas, and he was so tired of talking about work. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then decided _oh what the hell_. “Look, about what you said on Borneo.”

Rumlow shifted towards him minutely. Interested. “Yeah? I know that wasn’t the most appropriate time.”

“No problem,” Steve assured. “We have to be able to work together. It’s just… Look, I don’t hate you. And I don’t want you to stop talking to me outside of work. To be honest, you’re one of the only people who actually does.”

Rumlow looked upset at that. “Steve, man, you have got to get some friends. If I’m the only person you talk to, that’s probably not good.”

“Well you’re not the _only_ one,” Steve protested. He didn’t want to seem desperate.

“Who else?” Rumlow was shrewd.

“There’s Natasha.” Steve liked Natasha. She was clever and strong. She reminded him of Peggy. “Clint is nice.”

“And you talk to them?”

“Sara de Vega.”

“Steve, she’s the SHIELD psychologist. If you’re talking to her, it’s official business.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve admitted. “I see her every week. Fury was worried I wasn’t adapting well.”

“You like sports?” Rumlow asked.

Steve was briefly thrown by the change of topic. “Yeah, I guess. I loved baseball. My team isn’t my team anymore though.”

“Dodgers?” Rumlow guessed. “They haven’t been a New York team in my lifetime. But they are playing on Monday, and I have a sports package with my cable.” Steve just stared. Rumlow laughed. “So do you want to come over and watch them?”

Steve did. He really did. He wanted to get out of his too-quiet apartment and spend some time with another human being. He wanted to sit on Rumlow’s couch and enjoy just not being alone. He wanted to eat and joke and actually take some steps towards a real friendship.

Rumlow noticed his hesitation. “If you don’t want to, tell me. But I would like to know why.”

“I want to,” Steve said. “I do want to. I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I told you, I’m a lot of work.”

The commander reached over and set his hand on Steve’s. “I’m not afraid of a little work, Steve.”

 

 

Monday night, right after work, Steve pulled his motorcycle into the underground garage of Rumlow’s apartment building. He took the elevator up to the sixth floor, and stood for a few too many minutes with his hand hovering over the door to #23. He wiggled his toes in his shoes, working up the courage to knock. Then the elevator door dinged, and he knocked to avoid having to have the “Hey, you’re Captain America!” conversation with a random stranger. Rumlow let him right in.

Like Steve, Rumlow had changed out of his tac gear. He was wearing dark jeans and a sky blue tee shirt. He had showered, judging by his damp hair. “Come in,” He said, opening the door wide and just about pulling Steve in. He let his hand linger on Steve’s wrist for just a moment –long enough to be comforting, but also long enough to be easily brushed off- before nodding to the neat row of shoes in the entryway. “Mind taking your shoes off?”

Steve obligingly slid his sneakers off and added them to the lineup. Rumlow was retreating into the living room. “I recorded the game, so we can fast forward through commercials. Pizza should be here-“ Ding-dong. “Now, apparently.” He came back, snagging his wallet off the side table. He and Steve shuffled around each other.

In possession of four pizzas, with another, smaller, box on top, Rumlow herded Steve to the couch. There was soda, beer, chips, popcorn, and brownies. “I figured all of this might be enough to feed you.”

Steve laughed. “I ate before I came, so it might be. I eat like a horse.” He sat when his host indicated he should.

“That’s gotta be impractical on long-term missions,” Rumlow mused.

“I can’t do anything where food isn’t guaranteed. That’s a catch 22 we discovered during the war. I can go harder, faster, and longer than just about anyone. But because my metabolism is so much faster than the average person’s, I will also go out a lot faster if not fed. That’s why I eat the entire time we’re on a quinjet, to or from a mission.” Steve helped himself to his first four slices of pizza while Rumlow started the game.

It was surprisingly easy. Companionable. Steve relaxed against the back of the couch, and ate contentedly. He downed an entire pizza in about ten minutes. The smaller box that had been delivered was breadsticks. They were good, but they lacked meat. It seemed kind of pointless to eat them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rumlow, leaning into the corner formed by the back of the couch and the left armrest, eating slowly, clearly tired from a long day at work. Steve wasn’t sure about whether he would continue supporting the Dodgers now that they weren’t a Brooklyn team –but who else would he support? The Yankees? He would rather pluck out his own eyes- but he enjoyed watching them get up by seven in the first inning. Things really started getting intense by the fifth, and the food was mostly forgotten as both he and Rumlow cheered for the “home” team.

When they broke for the seventh inning stretch, Steve excused himself to the bathroom. After he washed his hands, he splashed water on his face and the back of his neck to cool down. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he was surprised to see that he looked relaxed and happy. His eyes were bright. That crease between his eyebrows had smoothed out. His lips were quirked upwards. This had been good for him.

When he shut the water off, he spied a bottle of cologne on the corner of the counter. It was light grey, with Acqua di Gio emblazoned across the front in silver. He popped the cap and sniffed the spritzer. A warm citrus scent filled his nose, and he grinned. It smelled like Rumlow. That was comforting and exciting at the same time. He reached into his pocket, grabbed his wallet, and pulled out a random business card. He sprayed it twice, took one last sniff, and folded it back into his wallet.

Rumlow was back on the couch when Steve returned. “Still hungry, man?” He asked.

Steve dropped back into his seat. “Nah, I’m good.” Rumlow had his arm draped along the back of the couch. Steve gave it a few minutes and then he propped his arm up there too. Just up to the elbow at first. He left it up there like that for the entire rest of the inning. Two minutes into the 8th, he put the rest of his arm up there, draped all the way along until his fingers were maybe an inch from the brunet’s.

Rumlow’s head turned towards him, but he stared intently at the TV. Ask him and he wouldn’t know the score, wouldn’t know who was at bat, wouldn’t remember any of it. “Steve.” Rumlow said. Steve took a deep, shaky breath. He faced the STRIKE commander. Tried to keep his face neutral.

Rumlow watched him for a moment, searching his face intently. Steve didn’t breathe. Then the Alpha stretched his arm a little further and took Steve’s hand in his. He turned back to the TV. His thumb stroked along Steve’s knuckles soothingly.

Steve just stared at where their hands were joined. He felt so warm. His brain was simultaneously buzzing with energy and calming itself down. Touch hunger was what the internet said his problem was. He had been so long without any contact that he was shutting down without it. And Rumlow was giving it to him. He was just doing it, casually, without making it awkward, without the heavy weight of any expectation. He just did it.

Steve vaguely wondered why. Did Rumlow just want to help his squadmate? Or did he, maybe, also need the contact?

Steve relaxed into it with a deep sigh of relief. Everything that had been pounding in his skull started evening out and he could feel the stress draining away. Just from a hand on his. That’s all it took.

The Dodgers won the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be relevant: Given that to me gender equality will never make significant strides until men are just as responsible for preventing pregnancy as women, there is an IUD-esque device for Alphas in this series, called the Pin. Brock has it. I have not yet decided if Steeb will have babies, but there will be no accidents. That's too out of character. 
> 
> Heat and rut are both treated with equal seriousness, though things are still skewed in an Alpha's favor. (Well you can't blame him, he was in rut! He wasn't taking advantage of that Omega, he was just responding to heat-scent!) It wasn't like that during Steve's day, but that's one of his favorite things about the 21st century. Heat and rut both happen twice a year, approximately every six months, unless something is wrong. Both are an average 3-4 days long. Alphas and Omegas are sent home on (PAID!!!) heat/rut leave as soon as they start to smell yummy (1-2 days before), and they don't come back until they smell normal again (2-3 days later). Mated pairs tend to sync up, so they go on leave together, but courting couples can often get time off to be together too, effectively doubling their time off. 
> 
> ^^This is what happens when Betas run the government. Yay Betas!


	3. Chapter 3

Work managed not to be awkward. Steve wasn’t entirely sure how.

He’d thought it would be weird to face Rumlow again. After all, he’d ended up dozing on the man’s couch, his head pressed to the brunet’s thigh, Rumlow’s arm draped over him while they still held hands. Two grown ass men, holding hands for about an hour and a half.

The STRIKE commander refused to let it get awkward, so it didn’t. He barked pointers at Steve during that morning’s sparring session just like he always did. He snagged Steve a black coffee off the cart, and dropped a handful of creamer cups and sugar packs in front of him, “I don’t know how you take it.” They sat across the boardroom table from each other while Rollins presented his analysis of the Borneo assignment. When Steve entered the cafeteria for lunch, Rumlow shoved his entire side of the bench up so that Steve could sit down next to him.

When Steve was sitting on his couch at home that night, his phone beeped a text notification. It was a PDF from Rumlow: the Dodgers’ schedule for the entire season. The immediate follow up was: If they’re still your team.

That became their pattern. On gamedays, Steve would go over to Rumlow’s apartment after work. He would either grab takeout on the way, or Rumlow would have food on delivery when he got there. They would eat nearly silently for the first two innings. Then things would loosen up. They would shout at the game, cheering “their” team to victory. They would laugh and joke. If they talked about work, it was never about missions –they would talk about team dynamics and the antics of their squadmates.

Rumlow, as it happened, was something of a gossip. He knew the workings of his team inside and out. McDonalds’ mate was pregnant with triplets and they were all going to be girls. Menfe had been caught in bed with a married beta, and that’s why he came into work last week with a split lip and two black eyes. He was slightly less familiar with the STRIKE operatives outside of Delta, but he did what he could to stay on top of things with them too. And anyone who was involved with STRIKE directly also fell under his attention. He knew that Natasha Romanoff could sing soprano. STRIKE’s admin assistant had just been dumped by the Alpha who was courting her, so Rumlow had ordered her a muffin basket. Doris in the cafeteria was about to send her first kid off to college.

Steve listened to the stories with great interest. These were his people too. And, in return, he told Rumlow his war stories. He told Rumlow of the indomitable Peggy Carter (Rumlow had a few anecdotes about Director Carter to share). He told him about Howard Stark, and Colonel Phillips. He told him about the Howling Commandos. He told him about his Alpha, James Buchannan Barnes. Steve told Rumlow to call his late mate “Bucky,” feeling like he was inducting him into the small, secret club of people who knew Bucky rather than Sergeant Barnes.

Rumlow reminded Steve to call him Brock. “We’re not at work, Buddy,” He laughed into his beer. “No need to be so formal.”

Steve nodded. “Brock.” He tested the harsh consonants in his mouth. Brock only had the lightest touch of the Lower East Side accent he had grown up with, but what little he had, he let loose around Steve. Steve let out his Brooklyn brogue, and in that 6th floor apartment in the middle of D.C., there was a little touch of New York for them to cling to.

Steve always went to the bathroom during the 7th inning stretch. When he got back, he and Brock would hold hands. They never talked about it, never even acknowledged it. It was just there. When Steve sat back down on the couch, Brock’s hand was resting either on the back or on the middle cushion, palm up, in obvious invitation. They would spend the rest of the game hand in hand. Brock would stroke his knuckles or the back of his hand. If the game was exciting, they would squeeze each other. And if their palms got a little sweaty, they ignored it. It didn’t matter. They held on anyway.

Mid-season, Steve started sitting on the middle seat when he came back from splashing water on his face. They didn’t talk about that either. Sometimes their thighs would press together. The Dodgers weren’t going to the World Series, but Steve and Brock still followed the entire season. Steve started getting anxious as the end approached. What was going to be his excuse to come see Brock once baseball season ended?

They were both on their feet, cheering Atlanta to victory, during the World Series. As the game ended, they fell back onto the couch, thrilled with the end of the very last game. “The Yankees lost!” Brock cheered. He draped an arm over Steve’s shoulders, and reeled him in. His head settled on Brock’s shoulder, and he just settled into the friendly squeeze. This was it, he thought. When he left tonight, that was gonna be it.

He turned his face inwards, hiding from the loss of the comfort he had come to rely on.

“Steve,” Brock said.

“Yeah?” _Please, please, please don’t_ he begged in his head. _I can’t go back to being alone._

“Who’s your football team?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this chapter is short. Sorry. It's not even 1,000 words. However the next chapter doesn't situate well with this one. It didn't work to combine them. It's just an awkward situation, but this chapter needed to happen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw what the hell. That last one was short, and I'm not sure if I will be finished with the current chapter to update this weekend. Enjoy. Something smutty IS coming. This is a slow burn. Be patient.

Brock was two hours and forty-two minutes late. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five.

When Brock was three and a half hours late, Steve paid for his drinks and went home.

When Brock was five hours and seventeen minutes late, Steve threw his StarkPhone –with its nine ignored texts and five unanswered calls- against a wall so hard that the phone shattered and it broke the brick.

Great. Now Brock couldn’t call, even if he wanted to. Great fucking idea, Rogers!

They were facing down a three-and-a-half-day weekend. Fresh back from a successful mission, Rumlow had dismissed STRIKE at 11 am. Monday was a federal holiday. He and Steve had planned to meet at a bar so that he could introduce the Omega to the fine sport of Mixed Martial Arts. Steve had gotten there first. Ordered a beer. Munched on some soft pretzels. He hadn’t noticed how late Brock was until the main fight of the night was about to start, and the brunet still wasn’t there.

It had been nearly nine hours, and Steve still had no word from his friend. Brock didn’t just cancel without warning. He had cancelled twice before, but he always let Steve know.

 _This is it_ , Steve thought. _He’s finally done with me_. Steve had pushed too hard. He had wanted too much. In the dark hold of the cargo plane that was transporting them back from the mission, Steve had slumped down on the hard bench he shared with Brock. He had fucked up his back on a jump, and it was killing him, and he knew it was going to be fine in an hour or two, but he had just wanted to lie down.

So lie down was exactly what Steve did. It’s just that he wasn’t thinking. He curled in on himself on the bench, with the top of his head pressed to the side of Brock’s thigh, just like he did on the Alpha’s couch, every week, right after half time. It felt so nice after that mission. A little bit of the comfort he had grown so used to getting. But there was a reason he only got it in measured doses. Too much, and his body just wanted it more.

Like an idiot, like some stupid, airheaded, pining Omega, he whimpered, wanting the hand he was usually permitted to hold when he was laying like this. It was an accident. He really didn’t mean to make that noise on a plane full of Alphas. But he did, he whimpered like a bitch in heat, just because he wanted to hold Brock’s goddamned hand. _Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic_.

Brock had stiffened at the noise. Drawn in a sharp breath. Let it out heavily. He didn’t push Steve away, like he should have, probably because he was trying to ignore what had just happened, and not make a scene in front of the rest of STRIKE. It wasn’t like any of them knew about the weird sort of therapy that their commander provided for the world’s most elite soldier. So he didn’t push Steve away, but he didn’t hold his hand either. And he was stiff and tense for the rest of the flight.

He had clapped Steve on the back when they were back at the Triskelion, and told him to go to medical. When Steve protested, he said “Either medical writes the report, or you do.”

Twenty minutes with Dr. Sidney was well worth avoiding the report. He hadn’t seen Brock afterwards, but the Alpha honestly hadn’t seemed mad. He was probably just worried about how the rest of the commandos would react if they saw what happened on the plane. Brock was supposed to be impartial.

Apparently he had been mad, though.

When Brock was twelve hours a twenty-six minutes late, Steve finally fell asleep. He slept most of the weekend. He dug “last month’s model” StarkPhone out of his closet, put the SIM card from his smashed one in it, and checked his messages. Natasha had sent him a text, but that was it.

Steve went for his daily run, and checked every ER within five miles of Brock’s apartment. He was halfway up the Alpha’s apartment building, when he decided against it. Clearly the man was already sick of having Steve intrude on his life. He wouldn’t push further.

Steve cried that weekend. He cried for Bucky. He cried for Peggy. He cried for the Howlies, and Mrs. Barnes, and all of Bucky’s sisters, for his mother, and for his own rotten luck that he hadn’t just died in 1945. He cried because he had pushed away his only friend in this time, and now he was alone again.

If he had known that coming back from the mission would have been the last time he would get to lay down and rest next to Brock, he would have taken the Alpha’s hand. He would have hooked the other in the Alpha’s tac belt, and just held on. He would have put his head in the other man’s lap, instead of next to it. He would have stayed awake to enjoy it, instead of letting pain and that little sense of comfort send him to sleep.

He hadn’t even been that tired. He should have stayed awake.

Long weekends usually went so fast, but this one dragged by. By Tuesday morning, Steve was clawing his arms again; long bloody furrows that left his sheets stained and didn’t heal by morning.

Brock wasn’t in the STRIKE suite of offices when Steve got there. That was weird. Rollins didn’t know where he was. That was worrying. Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t let on that he had spent the entire weekend fretting over the Alpha’s whereabouts.

Technically Steve was not a STRIKE commander. There was only one commander, and that was Brock. Rollins, Peters, and Sen were all squad leaders. Steve was not a squad leader. Fury said that Steve “Ranked up there with Rumlow, somewhere.” It wasn’t a formal structure. Brock called Steve his co-commander. Whatever he was, he was in charge until the other man returned.

Turns out, he didn’t really know how to do that.

Steve could lead the men in combat easily. It was leading them at home that was the challenge. He had never done that before. During the war, the SSR had managed everything the Howlies did. STRIKE had been initially founded to be autonomous, and hadn’t formally been made part of SHIELD until the 1970s. Because of that, they still largely had their own structure and leadership. Brock technically answered to Fury, Pierce, and the World Security Council, but other than that, he was it. And he was so used to doing everything that the commander did, that he hadn’t just handed it over to Steve when he got there.

So no, Steve had no idea how to fill out the stack of requisition forms that Marianne brought him. He was able to make suggestions while McDonald and Leiry sparred, but he didn’t know where any of the specs were for potential upcoming targets, so he couldn’t recommend additional training. He didn’t know what to do about the interdepartmental dispute that STRIKE was currently having with SHIELD security.

Mostly he just sat in his office and glared at his computer for existing. He shot off an email to Pepper Pots, asking for just general advice on how to manage people. Her response was just as general as he had requested, but she included links to some excellent articles on leadership. Bless that woman.

The squad leaders converged on his office at 3:00 for their almost-daily meeting. Steve’s first question was, “Have any of you heard from Rumlow?”

The two Alphas and Beta glanced between each other. They had an unspoken conversation and Rollins answered. “He should be in tomorrow.”

Steve’s heart jumped up into his throat. “Is he okay?”

Rollins nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. It’s…umm….” He looked over at Sen. The other Alpha shrugged. “I’d leave it to him to tell you, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” Steve said. “I was just surprised when he wasn’t in today.” He didn’t mention their abandoned plans on Friday.

“I’m surprised nobody told you,” Sen said. “I guess we all just figured someone else did. Apologies, Sir.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said tightly. “So, do any of you know where he keeps _anything_?”

 

The squad leaders dug out the most pressing information Steve had needed all day, and delivered it to his office. He sent each one of them away with a file and kept the rest to go over for himself. He was elbow deep in it at 9:00 when there was a knock on his door. He blinked the sand from his eyes. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. “Come in.”

Brock closed Steve’s door behind him and locked it. Steve was out of his chair and around the desk before he even registered that the Alpha looked like absolute shit. Then the smell hit him and everything made sense. “Steve, I am so sorry,” The brunet began.

“You weren’t there,” Steve said through frozen lips.

“No, I wasn’t, and I am sorry. My rut hit, Steve. I couldn’t come out. It came on so fast. It was early by like three weeks. I wasn’t expecting it.” He reached for the Omega, but Steve jerked back.

“You didn’t let me know. Are you telling me you couldn’t call or text or anything? I waited for you in that bar for three hours!” There was a small, rational part of Steve’s brain that was telling him to calm the fuck down. Rut was not to be taken lightly. It was every bit as serious as heat, but it tended to make Alphas very aggressive. But that was being overrun by the very Omega part of Steve’s brain that had been abandoned but still worried about Brock for the entire damn weekend. He was shaking. He knew he was shaking. And he hated it. But he had been teetering on the fine edge of a knife with stress and everything was starting to bubble over. He was falling off the edge. “Not once in four days did you think that maybe you should tell me that you were okay? I was fucking worried about you. I didn’t know what the hell had happened to you.”

Brock stood steady and took his reprimand like a soldier. Steve wanted to punch him in the face. He looked terrible. His skin was sallow and waxy. His eyes were too bright and there were dark shadows under them. He had three-day stubble all along his jaw and he reeked like a hasty shower and too-strong scent suppressants.

Steve didn’t care.

“Look, I know we’re not….anything. I fucking get that,” Steve growled. “But we were supposed to meet. I thought we were going to- fuck what I thought! It doesn’t even matter. I’d just hoped…. But not even a word! You didn’t even send me a fucking text message. I tried calling you and texting you. I went by the hospitals to see if you were in there. I know I’m nothing to you, Brock, but-“

“You are _not_ nothing to me, Steve.” Brock’s voice was low and dangerous. It was a rumble right out of his chest, ripping up his throat, and causing Steve’s hair to stand on end. He wanted to whine and placate and if he hadn’t been so damn angry, he probably would have offered the Alpha his throat. “I know I’m shit at all of this, but haven’t I at least been able to show you that?”

“Show. Me. What.” Steve hissed. “Show me that you can suck it up and deal with a half-crazed Omega for the sake of the mission?”

Brock outright growled. “Don’t. Don’t-don’t-don’t…. You aren’t…. That is _not_ what this is!”

“Then what is it?” Steve demanded.

“What is it to you?” Brock retorted.

“I don’t think it’s anything.” It hurt to say it. Those words were a bloody gaping wound in his chest. He had thought they were friends. Maybe even good ones. Something. He had thought they were something. They were something he had been scared to think about too deeply, and he didn’t want to dig into what he and Brock might be in relation to what he still had with Bucky. Because Bucky was dead, was gone, but he was still Steve’s Alpha. Still his love. Nope. Couldn’t think about that.

But if he and Brock were something –had something- then he would have at least had the common decency to give Steve a call and not leave him to worry all damn weekend. He would have at least had the decency not to abandon Steve with no warning, _knowing_ how Steve was. Knowing how fucking unbelievably, nauseatingly vulnerable he was.

Brock was staring at Steve like the Omega had just stabbed him. “Then I have failed.”

Steve growled “What do you want, Brock?”

Brock shook his head. “Don’t ask me that question.”

“Why not? You bombard me with a million questions,” Steve said.

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

“Well I don’t like this, either!” Steve knew he was being irrational. He knew. But god damn it, he couldn’t do this anymore!

“I want to help you,” rumbled from Brock’s chest. “I want to make you feel better.” Steve scoffed. Tried to, anyway. He was shaking too hard to be taken seriously. The Alpha stepped up to him. He didn’t back away this time. “I want to take you by the nape,” One huge, calloused hand slid around the back of Steve’s neck, tight and warm. That hand pulled him down to Brock’s chest. “I want to hold you like this.” Brock guided them down to the floor, backed up to the wall, propped his back into the corner, and pulled Steve down into his lap. “I want to hold you while you shake and cry and get it out of your system. I want to hold you like this until it goes away, and you can finally breathe again.” His other arm wrapped around Steve’s back, holding him close and tight. “And if you wanna knock me through a wall afterwards, then fine, but right now, Steve, I am begging you. Let me do this for you.”

Steve whined.

“And for me, too. Because you are sending all of my instincts into overdrive.”

Steve’s only answer was to curl his hands into Brock’s shirt and tuck his head down.

Steve didn’t know how long they stayed there. Brock’s heartbeat was thudding right under his ear. He wasn’t just being touched, he was being _held_. Nothing had felt this good in such a long time. Warm and tight and firm.

He tried to push away the thought of how much his distress must’ve distressed Brock, to make him do this. He tried to push away the chorus of “ _unworthy-clingy-needy_.” He tried to push away the thought of how many more years he would have to go without this.

Part of Steve shattered a little at that thought. If he was only going to average one meaningful touch every 70 years, then he may as well make it good. He shouldn’t push, he shouldn’t ask for more, but Brock had woken up the monster that only Bucky had ever been able to tame. “Brock,” he croaked. Maybe if he could have this, then the tremors would stop.

“Yeah, Steve?” His breath was right against Steve’s ear.

“Can I…?” He fingered the hem of Brock’s shirt. “I’m sorry to ask….”

Brock nuzzled his hair. “You can have whatever you want, Stevie, if you stop apologizing for asking for what you need.”

“Sorry,” Steve whispered.

The Alpha just shifted him around, pulling off his tight black tee while keeping Steve as close as possible. “You want yours off too?”

“Yeah.” Brock pulled Steve’s shirt off, and pulled him back close. Steve moaned. He hadn’t had this much skin to skin contact since a few months before Bucky died.

“I’ve got ya,” the Alpha stroked up and down his back. “It’s okay, Steve. I’m here. I’ve got you. You can let go.”

That Alpha scent was flaring, responding to the needs of the Omega sitting in his lap. It wound its way into Steve’s brain, coaxing him into that floaty, safe place in his head that turned him boneless for an Alpha.

Steve did start crying, at some point. Not loud, echoing sobs or anything, but tears slipped down his cheeks and dripped onto Brock’s skin. Not that he seemed to mind. He just stroked the Omega’s back and shhshhshh’ed him through it, until the shivering subsided and the tears did too.

He was vaguely aware of being bundled into a leather jacket that didn’t smell like him. He was helped into the roomy front seat of the Camaro, which was distressing at first, but when the door closed he was sealed into a hotbox of pure Alpha scent. When said Alpha got into the driver’s seat, Steve calmed enough to be driven home.

He woke up the next morning under his weighted blanket, heat turned on, wearing his boxers and not-his shirt. He had distant memories of being half-carried into his apartment and tucked into bed by hot and calloused hands. Waking up alone distressed him a bit, but he knew he shouldn’t have expected anything different.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for this awkward length. Chapters 4-7 were originally written as one chapter. It was over 10,000 words. Since I didn't intend for my chapters to ever really be above 3,000 each, I thought it would be better to break it down.
> 
> Also -- smut next chapter! Woot!

Steve definitely didn’t expect to walk into his living room to find Brock sleeping on his couch.

His face was pinched, nose scrunched. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was still a bit sallow. He still wasn’t fully recovered from his rut. That made Steve feel like shit. Brock hadn’t recovered, but he had still rushed over to Steve as soon as it was safe, to try to make sure he was okay, to explain.

Steve couldn’t really ignore that that was the action of an Alpha courting an Omega.

Once he realized that, everything shifted into place.

Brock wanting to spend more and more time with him. Brock being okay with the touching – being so at ease with Steve’s need for physicality. It even explained his behavior on the plane. Spending so much time with a suitable Omega had prompted his rut to start early. His rut was approaching, though he didn’t realize it, and his chosen Omega was trying to crawl into his skin. _Of course_ he went stiff and silent. He’d probably had a raging hard on.

Then there were all of the little things that Steve didn’t even notice until he was sitting there, watching Brock sleep on the couch, reflecting on them. He would make sure that the blinds in Steve’s office were open in the morning, insisting that the sunlight was good for him, and it warmed the whole room. He also rigged the thermostat in Steve’s office to not blow _quite_ as cold so that Steve would be comfortable. A few months ago he began unobtrusively making sure that Steve sat on his left side, where an Omega traditionally sat with their Alpha. A place of honor, in Alpha culture.

And, of course, there was the food. Really, Steve was a fucking idiot to not notice. After their conversation during that first Dodgers game, he had assumed that Brock was just making sure that he was always mission ready. No, stupid. An Alpha would never feed an Omega they weren’t courting. Not that thoroughly. Brock made sure that he had food ready when Steve came over. If he stopped in the morning to grab a bagel, he would grab one for Steve too. When there was fruit in the conference room, Brock would make Steve a plate of the freshest, juiciest pieces. He delighted in introducing the Omega to new food. How had Steve never noticed that Brock never took a bite until he did? That the Alpha watched him take that first bite with rapt attention? That he loaded Steve’s plate with more before Steve ever had the chance? Brock had even learned Steve’s coffee preference, so that he could bring him his first cup in the morning. The Alpha looked so damn happy when Steve accepted the food he brought, when he enjoyed it.

Steve wanted to explain it away. He was just a vulnerable Omega, and Brock had been taking care of him on instinct. The Alpha probably hadn’t even noticed.

Brock wasn’t that stupid, though. At least for the last three months, he had been intentionally courting Steve. He had been demonstrating his ability to care for an Omega. He had been putting himself forward as an Alpha who wanted to be noticed. And Steve had been too damn blind and insecure to see it.

Brock had Steve’s tee shirt from yesterday tucked under his chin.

He was also watching Steve like the Omega was an animal about to bite him. “Sorry to crash here without permission,” He said when he knew he had Steve’s attention. “I wanted to make sure you would be okay.”

“You’re courting me,” Steve blurted out. Oh, _nice one_ , _Rogers_.

“I…” Brock sat up on the couch. “Fuck it,” he muttered. “Yeah, I was. I am. I can –I’ll stop.”

“Stop?” Steve was confused.

“Stop….” Brock looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Desist. Not do that anymore. Fuck off. Go away. Running out of synonyms here, Steve.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t particularly like that idea. Now that he knew that that’s what Brock had been doing, it was nice. It made him feel good. Brock wanted him. He actually did want him around! There was no better proof. He was putting in all of the effort of an old fashioned courting, just to prove it. He wanted to be around Steve. It wasn’t just pity. He actually, genuinely wanted to be with Steve. And…Steve had gone and ruined it. “I guess I freaked out that bad last night.”

“Freaked out? Nah, Stevie, you were perfectly right. I am sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have called or texted or made Jack tell you or sent a goddamned carrier pigeon. There’s no excuse for just leaving you hanging.” Brock went to reach for him, but hesitated and dropped his arm. “But I’m fucking all this up. I ain’t ever courted an Omega before. I don’t know how. Lotta bastards in my family. Mostly the Alphas just fuck and leave. But I didn’t want to be like that. I thought I’d at least try, see if I could show you that you were important to me. See if I could do right by you. But clearly I can’t. I’m no good at this. And you’re just so…well, _you_ that it ain’t even funny. I don’t know why I thought a punk ass brat from Staten Island could even mess with Steve Rogers. You are so far outta my league.”

“Wait, you think _I’m_ out of _your_ league?” Steve laughed. “Brock, I can’t keep my shit together to save my fucking life. I get weepy over holding hands. I still call it THE Google. I just never realized you were doing it.”

“I was trying to be subtle,” Brock mumbled.

“You succeeded.” Steve shook his head. “I can’t believe it. You were courting me. All this time I was so worried that you were going to come to your senses at any moment and not want anything to do with me. I suppose you still could…but you were courting me.”

“Do you want me to stop?” The Alpha asked.

Reasonable question. “Not gonna lie,” Steve said. “I don’t know what I want. I’m a fucking mess. I have so much shit going on in my head right now. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

 _Not to mention, you have an Alpha_ , a traitorous voice in his head whispered. That sobered up Steve’s good mood real quick. “And I have an Alpha.”

Brock stared at him blankly. “Stevie, your Alpha is-“

“I know!” Steve interrupted. “I know that he’s gone. I know that the bond is broken and I’m free to move on. But that’s just not how it works to me.”

The Alpha nodded tiredly. “I didn’t mean it like that. He’ll always be your first Alpha. You’ll always love him. You should. He taught you how to love. But do you think he’d want you to hold a candle for him forever?”

That was something Steve couldn’t answer. There was no way. He didn’t get to know what Bucky would want, because Bucky was dead. That’s the shit of it, in the end. He doesn’t get to know anything Bucky would do or say or want. Reasonably, he knew Bucky wouldn’t want him to be lonely.

Tell that to Steve’s heart, though.

Steve’s heart still longed for Bucky as much as it longed to not be alone. He wanted to not be alone….with Bucky! And he had no fucking clue how to navigate that, how to explain it to himself –much less how to explain it to Brock.

But Brock seemed to understand. “I’m not gonna push this, Steve. My cards are on the table. You know. If you give me permission to continue courting you, I would like that. If you don’t, I’ll back off. If you change your mind later, either way, then I’ll go your way. I don’t want to hurt you. If you don’t know what you want, that’s okay. You don’t have to know now.”

Before Steve could answer, both of their work phones went off.

Son of a bitch.

AKA –Fury.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is going to be a double chapter update because I am going to be AFK a lot over the next two weeks. I'm having surgery next Thursday. It's minor, so don't worry about me dying and leaving the story incomplete lol. Then that Sunday I'm leaving for vacation and will be gone for a week. I am /hoping/ that I will be able to write some more on Friday/Saturday after my surgery, but I don't know how I will be feeling. So two chapters today. Unfortunately, I am only done writing through chapter 10.
> 
> Bucky will show up in like chapter 12-13. Somewhere in there. I was originally bringing him in sooner, but I decided on some more Steve/Brock schmoop to make it all the more painful when the Triskelion falls. You know, so it kinda feels personal.
> 
> Without further ado, here is Steve's heat.

This time, it was Steve who cancelled post-mission plans for hormonal reasons. But Steve happened to be a _Decent Human Being_ , and he actually gave Brock a call.

“Steve.”

Steve shivered at the sound of Brock’s voice. He must have made some kind of noise, too, because Brock asked “Hey, are you okay?

“’M fine,” Steve mumbled. He wasn’t fine. He was huffing the business card with Brock’s cologne on it and trying not to think about what that meant. “I’m not gonna make it out. It’s my heat.”

There was a long pause. “Do you want me to come over?” Brock asked quietly.

Steve tensed. The answer was yes, he very much wanted Brock to come over. His heats had been so bad since coming out of the ice, and he didn’t want to spend another one alone. But the implications were tremendous. Also: Bucky. Steve had an Alpha. He was dead, and the bond had broken along with Steve’s heart, but that didn’t mean Steve was ready to move on. No matter how gentle Brock’s hands were.

“Brock,” Steve whined into the phone.

“It’s okay,” The Alpha soothed. “Whatever you want, Steve. Whatever you want, it’s okay.”

“I can’t,” Steve nearly wailed. “I just can’t. I can’t take another mate. Bucky…. I miss Bucky….”

“If you don’t want me over, buddy, I won’t come over.” Why did he have to sound so damn understanding? “But I’m just offering to help you through your heat, not to bond with you.”

“What?” His brain was half-melted and sluggish.

“They aren’t mutually exclusive. I want to help you.”

“You do help me,” Steve confessed.

“I’m glad.” There was genuine warmth in Brock’s voice. It was a tone that seemed reserved for Steve. “I can help you with this too, if you’ll let me. I just had my rut, so it’s not like I’m going to lose control and bite you. You don’t have to worry about me getting a pup on you either; I’ve got that Pin thing. I just don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Steve cradled the phone like a lifeline. So many things were sliding around the melted ice cream in his head, not least of which was that he was being burned alive from the inside. And Brock was throwing him a fire extinguisher.

Bucky was gone –would he want Steve to suffer?

“Please,” Steve finally croaked. He needed it. He did.

“Please, what?” Brock asked. “I’m sorry, I need to hear you say it. Part’a me already worries that you’re too far gone to give consent.”

“I’m not, not yet,” Steve assured him. “I probably will be when you get here. Brock, please come over and help me through my heat.” It was a damned miracle that he kept his voice level.

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” There was the growl of an engine as the Camaro roared to life. Oh. Brock must have been sitting in his car, waiting for Steve to tell him it was okay. “Just hold on Steve. I’ll be right there.”

Steve hung up the phone, then dragged himself over to unlock the door. He wasn’t going to be coherent enough to answer it in 20 minutes. It wasn’t the safest thing ever, but he was Captain Fucking America™. He grabbed an icepack from the freezer on his way back to the couch and held it close. If he watched the clock the whole time he was curled over it, that was no one’s business but his own.

It only took Brock 16 minutes to knock on Steve’s door and let himself in. Wow. Speeding. Steve heard the door open, heard him step in, and lock it. Heard him pause, take a deep breath, and swear like a sailor as he was assaulted by the scent of heat. “Shit, Steve. You smell unbelievable.”

Steve just made some kind of half-dead noise and flailed a hand in the Alpha’s general direction. Brock circled the couch, knelt in front of Steve, and clasped the waving hand. They both hissed at the contact. “Fuck,” Brock breathed. “Good thing I already had my rut.” He slipped his arms under the Omega, hefting him off the couch. “Because you are absolutely irresistible like this.”

As Brock carried him to the bedroom, Steve snuffled along the line of his shoulder, to his neck, until he hit the Alpha’s scent gland. He took a few deep breaths, letting the intoxicating aroma seep into his brain and ease his heat-induced anxiety. Brock put a knee on the bed to lower Steve onto it slowly, but nearly dropped him when Steve licked over the gland.

“Fuck! Steve, babe, I’m gonna need you to not do that.” He pulled off Steve’s sweat soaked shirt and slick soaked boxers, leaving him to shiver, exposed to the air. “Fucking gorgeous,” The Alpha groaned. He pulled away with a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

As soon as his brain processed that Brock had stepped back, Steve whined –high, needy, and full of Omega distress- and reached for him. “Patience, babe. Give me a sec.” Steve let out another whine, as distressed as he could make it. He didn’t feel bad at all for trying to manipulate the Alpha. He needed relief. Brock resisted, but it looked like a fight. Bastard actually had the nerve to leave the room. Steve panicked. “Brock!”

He was back in a minute. His hands were full of baby wipes, towels, and a small cooler. “Sorry, Steve, but you’re really not going to want me to leave once we get started.” He settled his supplies around the bed within easy reach, and undressed. He didn’t bother with teasing, just shucked his clothes and left them where they fell.

Steve let out a series of very primal noises when Brock crawled over him. Full body contact soothed his itching skin. Brock’s musky, masculine scent filled his nose and further calmed his head. That massive Alpha cock against his hip sent a rush of slick dripping out of his hole. “Ohhh…Alpha….”

“I’m right here, Omega,” Brock replied. “I’ve got you. Tell me what you need.”

“Your knot,” Steve slurred.

Brock chuckled against his cheek. “I don’t know why I expected a more articulate answer. Fast, slow? Hard, soft?”

“NOW!” Steve insisted.

Brock laughed and peppered kisses all over Steve’s face. “Yes, sir.” He braced his weight on his left arm and took his right straight down Steve’s body. He stroke gently along Steve’s cleft, drawing more of those instinctual noises. When he slid his finger in, Steve howled. Brock growled.

A second finger followed almost immediately. Then came a third. Brock wasn’t really stretching him, more just testing to make sure he was open enough. Steve fucked downwards onto those fingers. Instead of soothing the ache inside him, his rocking just amped it up.

Brock withdrew is fingers and crawled off Steve. In response to the Omega’s pathetic whimper, he said “Roll over, Omega. You know what I want.” His voice was so rough. Heavy.

Steve did know what his Alpha wanted. He wanted it too. He clambered over onto his stomach, got up on his knees, and _presented_ to his Alpha.

“Oh fuck, _Steve_.” Brock sounded completely wrecked, and they hadn’t even started yet. He lined himself up and pressed just the tip against Steve’s dripping hole. “Do you want me to knot you Steve?”

“Please,” Steve begged.

“No, Steve, I’m asking you seriously. Fuck, I should have thought to ask you earlier.”

Steve shook his head. Shook his whole body like a damn dog. “’M on birth control.” He arched his back. “Can’t catch anything. No condom. Knot me.”

“Okay, babe.” With that, Brock slid home on one movement. Steve keened. He started fucking his hips back immediately, needing that friction. Brock grabbed his hips and started pounding in hard.

This! This was what Steve needed. He knew he was making all kinds of noises as he was slammed forward over and over again, but it felt so fucking good that he didn’t care. Brock moved one hand off his hip to grab him by the nape. Steve canted his hips back to meet every thrust. His brain was screaming with the mating drive.

Brock’s knot was starting to swell. Steve shifted, opening the cradle of his hips to allow the Alpha further inside. He was gonna get that knot.

In response, Brock slipped the hand still on Steve’s hip around to grab his throbbing erection. He started stroking it in time with his thrusts. The hand on Steve’s nape dropped to the bed to hold Brock up so that he could drape himself over the Omega’s back.

It felt just so. Fucking. Right. Steve felt safe. Protected. Cared for. Fuck it –loved. Brock dropped his head to mouth at Steve’s scent gland. His knot was catching on Steve’s rim with every thrust. He could barely pull it out, it had swelled so large.

Finally it popped fully, caught completely, and all Steve could do was grind back onto it. Brock was losing his rhythm. His teeth scraped Steve’s scent gland.

“Please,” The Omega begged. “Bite. Bite me. Bond me, Alpha, please.”

Brock licked and sucked at the gland, but he didn’t bite. Didn’t claim Steve as his Omega, no matter how much the blond begged him to just _take_.

Brock canted his hips forward roughly, and they both collapsed onto the mattress. The Alpha ground in hard –tip on Steve’s prostate, knot on his rim. It was more difficult now, but he kept stroking Steve’s cock. One more hard suck on his scent gland, and Steve was screaming out his orgasm. Pulsing muscles pulled Brock along for the ride, beginning the cycle that would probably milk Brock half a dozen times as both of their bodies tried to get a pup on Steve.

Brock wrapped both arms around Steve, hitched a leg around him, and pulled them both onto their sides. The movement sparked orgasm number two.

Steve felt sated. He knew the drive to mate would be back in a few hours, but for now he was calm. His mind was clear. Brock was spooning him carefully, mindful of the knot still swollen inside Steve’s delicate rim. He was trying to pull the covers over them before the sweat cooled and Steve got cold. He slowly moved to help the Alpha. Between that and Brock grabbing the cooler, came orgasm number three.

How could he hold that much spunk? _And there still be more to come?_

Brock popped the top on a bottle of water and helped Steve drink. “How are you feeling?”

He sounded as rough as Steve felt. Steve swallowed a few gulps of the cold water, then passed it back. “I feel good. Much, much better. Thank you.”

Brock kissed his temple. “No need to thank me, babe. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Steve sank into the warmth surrounding him. If anyone had told him when he first met Brock Rumlow that the man was this gentle and sweet, he wouldn’t have believed it. Sure, Brock’s a good man. No doubt about that. But he’s the rough-and-tumble leader of the most elite black ops squad in the world. That didn’t entirely fit with how he was petting Steve’s stomach and thighs, and pressing soft kisses into his hair.

Steve was pretty sure it was just the heat making him think of Brock as “his” Alpha all of a sudden. There was something there. It had been like that for a while, ever since Brock had come back from his rut and _held_ Steve the way he had. They hadn’t come to any agreements about how they were going to go forward, or what they even wanted to do. Brock wanted something more, but knew that the Omega was still hung up on Bucky.

Brock had shown him such open vulnerability, that day he'd told Steve he wanted to court him.

Steve sighed. He couldn’t think about this right now. His Alpha was knot-deep inside of him, and he was surrounded by his pheromones. There was no way for him to think straight. “Thank you for not…biting me,” Steve mumbled into his pillow. Even knowing it was just natural instinct, and hormones, that had made him beg for it like he did, he was still embarrassed. He was glad at least one of them had self-control.

Brock pressed the water bottle back to Steve’s lips and helped him take another drink. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but I asked you to,” Steve said. The fire had burned itself down into a sleepy warmth, and he was perfectly content to just be the little spoon and nap until he next needed relief.

“Asking in the heat of the moment doesn’t count, Darlin’,” Brock said. He nuzzled behind Steve’s ear and along his neck, still stroking his hands up and down the Omega’s sides. Checking the Omega over, that’s what he was doing. Making sure he was okay, soothing him. And Steve was losing himself in the feeling of being cared for.

“Did you just make a heat pun?” Steve asked.

Brock chuckled against his neck. “Yeah.”

Steve snorted. “Go to sleep. That was terrible.”

“Can’t sleep with you tight on my knot,” His Alpha whined. He flexed his pelvic muscles, causing his knot to twitch inside of Steve. Steve clenched down in retaliation, and Brock squeezed him tight as he came yet again. “Shit. Oh fuck, Steve.” Brock rocked into him. “Keep doing that, and I’m never going to leave.”

Steve doubted Brock meant it _like that_ , but it still made his chest tight. He could admit it to himself –he didn’t want Brock to go. He didn’t want to wonder about the next time he might be held like this. He didn’t want to wonder when someone would call him ”Baby” or “Darlin’” again. He didn’t want to just be a pity fuck when he was in heat.

Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted Brock specifically, or if he just needed somebody. He just couldn’t imagine anyone other than Brock anymore. Not being alone was a greater rush than orgasm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/2 for today. Unless I manage to get up through chapter 12 finished after my surgery, I will see you all again after my vacation.

Steve’s heat only lasted three and a half days. That was both a blessing and a curse. Obviously he was glad that it was over. Heats were nasty and unpleasant, and he always hoped they would end soon. But this had been the best heat he’d had since Bucky died.

Brock had taken such good care of Steve. Sure, they’d had sex sixteen times. Super soldier refractory periods were no joke. So many Alphas would’ve just stopped by every few hours to fuck him, and then left once their knot went down. Brock stayed the whole time.

After their first round, while Steve slept, Brock had gathered together piles of pillows, blankets, and towels to build a nest for Steve. The Omega nearly cried when he woke up surrounded by it, because yeah, no one had ever done anything like that for him before. His Alpha had also gathered a cache of water and snacks, Steve’s StarkPad, his own e-reader, some paperbacks, and a laptop to watch movies. Steve only had to leave his nest to go to the bathroom, or when Brock bathed him.

Brock. Bathed. Him.

His Alpha held him up in a quick, hot shower to get him clean, hands infinitely gentle as head soaped the Omega up. Then he sat Steve down on the counter, and ran a cool bath for him to relax in. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat while Steve soaked, holding his hand, catching him up on team gossip.

The second day was terrible. It always was. Steve couldn’t remember much, outside of the distress of outrunning Brock’s stamina. Yeah, he was in shape, but after six rounds with Steve, he could barely get it up for a few hours. The third day was much better.

When Steve woke up on the fourth day, he knew it was ending. He probably didn’t need Brock’s help anymore. This felt like normal morning arousal after a wet dream. No big deal. It wasn’t even painful. He was going to say as much, he really was, but when Brock took him in hand, the thought seemed unimportant. When Brock took him in his mouth, the thought escaped his mind entirely.

And oh, _oh wow_. They hadn’t done this before. Everything had been straight up fucking, Lordosis reflex, just to relieve the pain. And he knew there were a lot of Alphas who wouldn’t even touch a male Omega’s vestigial cock at all. Steve had considered himself lucky that Brock had even jerked him off while fucking him. But here his Alpha was, going down on him, sucking him just to be sucking him. This wasn’t something that would aid with a heat. Oral was something you did with _your_ Omega after the heat, to soothe them, if you did it at all. It was something that accomplished nothing but feeling good.

Brock swallowed him down to the root, nose pressed right to his pelvis. Steve moaned rough and low. He couldn’t help bucking up into that wet heat surrounding him. Brock didn’t seem to mind, didn’t hold him down. He just started laving his tongue along the vein on the underside of the Omega’s cock as be bobbed his head up and down. And oh holy shit, Steve was not going to last long. This was going to be over much too quickly. Brock reached a hand back and stroked a finger along Steve’s cleft. The blond was pretty sure he was babbling incoherently. His Alpha breached him with one finger, at the same time as a particularly strong suck, and Steve didn’t even have time to warn him before shooting off in his mouth.

Brock pulled off with a pop and swallowed heavily. He kissed up along the V line along Steve’s hip, then trailed inwards, and licked up his abs. He kept the line, between the blond’s pecs, up his sternum, and dropped a kiss into the hollow of his collar bone. Steve wrapped his arms around his Alpha and pulled him up for a kiss.

He could taste himself in Brock’s mouth. It was weirdly….appealing. It made him feel possessive. He tightened his grip. Thrust his tongue into the brunet’s mouth. Their tongues slid together, back and forth between both of their mouths, until Steve was sucking on Brock’s. His Alpha moaned into the sensation. “Fuck, Baby,” He growled.

Steve bucked his hips. Yep, Brock was fully hard. He hooked a leg over his partner’s butt and ground their hips together. Oh his recovery time had been a pain in the ass during his heat, but now it was pretty convenient. His cunt was tingling and he was starting to get hard already. This was probably going to be the last time he was going to be allowed this kind of intimacy, and he was going to make it count.

Thankfully, Brock seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He continued to kiss Steve slowly and thoroughly. He propped himself up on one arm and trailed his other hand down the Omega’s side and between his legs. He stroked between his cheeks and slid a finger into his dripping rim. Steve moaned “Mmm…Brock….”

“Yeah, Baby?” Brock kissed him, and added a second finger. It wasn’t going to take more than that with how loose he was. “What do you want?”

“You,” Steve said. He reached between their stomachs to grip both of their cocks. He stroked up and down with Brock’s rhythm inside him. His Alpha froze, and his rhythm stuttered. Was this Brock’s limit? He didn’t mind jerking or even sucking an Omega’s cock, but he didn’t want his own rubbed against it? But no, no that wasn’t what his face was reading. Brock started stroking again, matching Steve’s pace. He had the expression of someone who was experiencing something new…and he liked it.

And that gave Steve confidence. He stroked faster. Squeezed a bit harder. Brock dropped his face into the blond’s neck and growled. He fucked into Steve’s hand a few times, before he nipped at the pale skin in front of him and pulled back. “I want to be in you, Steve,” He growled.

Steve nodded. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” He rolled over so that he could present, but before he could get his knees under himself, Brock grabbed him.

“No, Baby. Like this. Please.” His Alpha flipped him back over onto his back. Pulled his legs wide around the brunet’s waist and held him close. He slid home in a smooth, slow movement, bowing his back to press against Steve. He rolled his hips, and the Omega met each thrust.

Steve moaned and clawed along his Alpha’s back. This felt nothing like their fucking in heat. Brock was being as gentle and thorough now as he was when he took care of Steve in the lulls of the heat. His arms were around Steve’s back, holding him tight to his chest. He’d buried his face back into Steve’s throat and was mouthing and biting and kissing along his neck.

The Omega was more himself this time than he had been able to be for any of the others. This was the first time he had gotten to face his Alpha, and damnit he was going to take advantage. He wrapped his legs around the other man’s trim waist, then wrapped his arms around his muscular back. Brock had him. He _had_ him, had him pulled so tight against him that Steve actually felt safe, completely safe, for the first time since he had woken up.

His Alpha gripped his hips with one hand, his shoulder with another, and then he hauled them both up. Brock was on his haunches, powerful thighs bunching and rolling as he fucked up into Steve. Steve couldn’t remember having ever been on top before, even with Bucky. He was raised up above the brunet now, looking down at him. Seeing him looking back, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly open in a pant. The look on his face wasn’t something Steve rightly understood. It seemed like longing. It seemed like adoration.

It was over much too soon. Still sensitive from the blowjob earlier, Steve only lasted a few more minutes once Brock started jerking him off. He clenched up in his release, drawing his Alpha with him. He felt Brock’s knot swell, felt the man hold himself back from sliding it into him, so he jerked his hips down and took it. Steve wanted that for himself one more time.

After everything with the heat, they only ended up tied together for twenty minutes. Steve wished it was longer. He was curled inwards against Brock’s chest, warm and content and cared for. When the knot deflated, that was it. His heat was over. Brock was going to leave, and the blond wasn’t sure how he was going to sleep alone, now that he had such a vivid reminder of what it was like to not have to.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” Brock asked. He shifted his legs back now that he didn’t have to hold them forward, and stretched his hips. Knotting sometimes stuck you in weird positions.

“I’ve got it,” Steve replied, hoping the Alpha even still be there when he got out of the shower.. “You can nap ‘f you want. You sound tired.”

Brock just hummed.

 

 

Brock was sitting on the couch when Steve came out. His clothes and shoes were on. He had his sunglasses and keys in hand. He was frowning at them, eyes glazed over like he was a thousand miles away. “Brock?” Hazel eyes snapped to his face. “Are you okay?”

The Alpha rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, Stevie. I’m good.”

Clearly that wasn’t true. Steve stepped up to the other man, stood between his legs. He went to put his hands on the Alpha’s shoulders, but hesitated right above them. The problem was probably that he was just sick of Steve by now.

But Brock took exception to the hesitation. He took Steve’s hands in his, and settled them down on his own broad shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about touching me, Steve. I don’t mind. I promise I don’t mind. I’m comfortable with it. If I’m ever not, I’ll let you know.”

The blond couldn’t help his smile. He wanted so badly to explain to the man in front of him just how much of an impact he had made. Steve had been drowning alone, and Brock had paddled out there to get him. He didn’t know how to say all of that without being weird, but it might just be worth a shot. “Brock-“

“Steve-“

They both laughed at having spoken over each other. “Go ahead, man,” Brock said.

Steve nodded. “Bear with me here. I don’t know exactly how to say what I’m saying.”

“I have all the time in the world,” Brock said.

“I…umm… I really appreciate all of this,” Steve started. “Not just these past few days. I mean, yeah, that too, obviously. You took such good care of me. You were so gentle, except when I needed you not to be. And you actually stayed with me the whole time. Didn’t just swing around when it was time to fuck.”

Brock was frowning. He looked like he was going to speak, but Steve headed him off. He didn’t want to lose his nerve.

“All these months we’ve been working together….You’re my closest friend.” Steve felt a blush creep up from his chest to his cheeks. Shit, this was hard. “I don’t have an easy time opening up to people. I have issues with touch. Back in my day, Brock, people touched each other all the time. It was the most normal thing in the world. But now? Everybody seems to refuse to touch at all.

“When you told me that you wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t want it, I appreciated it. And I almost had a heart attack. And on Borneo, when you said that sometimes you thought I hated you, when you offered to never even speak to me if it wasn’t work, I thought I was going to be sick. I’d have panicked if we hadn’t been on a mission. I needed you to be okay with me. I just didn’t want to let on how much I needed that, so that I wouldn’t scare you away. I wondered to myself once if I could pencil in an appointment on your calendar, and if you would keep it if I did.”

Steve’s voice broke for a second right there, and he sniffed loudly. Damn post-heat hormones. Brock made a very distressed noise deep in his chest and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. He seemed to have figured out that he shouldn’t interrupt; that Steve needed to keep going.

 “When you asked me over to watch the Dodgers play, I put that on _my_ calendar, and sometimes I would catch myself just staring at the reminder. I had something to look forward to. I needed someone in my life so badly. Being alone was driving me insane. But I knew that I would be needy and clingy if I ever let myself be, so I tried to hold back. I thought that us just being friendly at work was better than us having a friendship and me doing something you didn’t like and losing all of it. I figured it would be better to not get close, rather than be too much and drive you away. It would hurt less, if it meant less.

“You’re just so damn persistent. You don’t put up with bullshit and excuses. You figured out what I needed and you gave it to me without giving me any shit for it. I swear to god, the first few times after I came over, and you just let me hold your hand, when I got home I cried out of sheer relief. I just felt that much better. I didn’t feel like I was alone anymore.” And this was so, so much further into this than Steve had planned to go. He had opened a floodgate. Brock was just staring up at him, chin tilted up against Steve’s ribs. His hazel eyes were so calm and warm.

“I can’t even begin to explain how much that meant to me. Thank you.” Steve felt bad for dumping so much onto the other man. What if this made him feel obligated to Steve somehow? Like he had to be Steve’s friend, or the Omega would fall apart? But Steve felt lighter for everything he had said. A weight had come off.

“After everything I’ve told you. After everything I’ve done…. I still worry that you don’t see yourself as worth it.” Brock’s whole body was just vibrating with pent up emotion. The brunet pulled the blond onto the couch with him. He wrapped around his Omega from behind, one hand across his chest, the other holding his nape, gentling him. A soft kiss was brushed behind Steve’s ear, and the Alpha said “I’ll just have to try harder then.”

His heart shattered. It really did, hearing that. After everything he had put Brock through, not only did his Alpha still care about him, but he was willing to work harder to make sure that Steve felt it through the anxiety that clouded his mind. “But what if I’m _not_ worth it?” He whispered.

Brock mouthed along Steve’s jaw. “But what if you _are_?”

They kissed through Steve’s tears. He felt ridiculous. It was one of the sweetest, most romantic moments in his life, and he was just crying like the hapless Omega in a romance novel. But his Alpha pulled him in. Wrapped around him. Stroked his side and his arm and his thigh and Steve was so warm. He was so relaxed.

They lay together on the couch for an hour, just kissing and cuddling and bonding post-heat, the way mates did. Brock touched every inch of Steve’s skin. His callouses grazed over hard muscle and sent shivers up the Omega’s spine. This was exactly what he needed after a heat. This was the proper come down, and Brock handled it perfectly. “Baby, you need to eat something. Let me cook for you.”

Steve whined “I’m comfortable.”

“I know,” Brock crooned. “But you’re gonna feel like shit if you don’t eat anything.”

Steve forced himself to get up and let Brock go to the kitchen. He watched his Alpha putter around with pots and pans and chicken breasts, and realized _his_ Alpha felt right. “Brock?”

“Yeah, Darlin’?”

“I made my decision.”

Brock set a pan down on the stove. “Your decision about what?”

“About you courting me.”

He had Brock’s full attention then.

“Yes. I want you to.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Steve! We love you!
> 
> I'm back from vacation and my surgery went well. Thank you all for your positive thoughts. I'm going to have to have another one at some point, because my intestine was attached to things it shouldn't be in at least two places, and my appendix was also attached to things it shouldn't be. They gave me HD pictures. It looks weird. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome is a bitch and a half.
> 
> ...Did everyone read chapter 6? Just want to make sure. 6 and 7 were released the same day and I don't want anyone missing 6 because they thought 7 was the only update. 
> 
> Also, super generic stereotypical Latin American Bad Guy name. I apologize in advance. I was originally tipsy when I wrote this chapter, and called him El Burrito. I changed that. A little.

God damn motherfucking napalm and whoever the fuck invented it. Steve was not a fan. Delta, Charlie, and Echo squads were pinned down. Steve was with the three whole people who remained from Beta squad. There was an explosion somewhere to his left and someone screamed. It was absolute fucking chaos.

Sick as it sounds, this chaos shit was where Steve thrived. “Darnell, pull right and cover me! Pina, Morales, go up left and get in sniper position. We have to unpin Echo and we can move forward from there.”

The survivors affirmed his orders and they all pushed out.

Steve threw his shield and hit one of the footsoldiers square on the jaw with a satisfying crunch. The man fell, and Steve scooped up his gun to take care of three more. How had cartels been allowed to get this bad? They had truck-mounted .50 cals and fucking _napalm_. Did police not do anything anymore?

After studying US history for what he’d missed, Steve had thought Vietnam was bad. America’s War on Drugs made ‘Nam look like a clear-cut win.

Maybe that was a cause he should take up as Captain Fucking America™.

Steve followed Darnell until the other blond was in position, then he ran forward into the hail of gunfire. Just on the other side of a line of burning cars, he could see where Echo held their positions. Or tried to, anyway. They were four men down and fighting for their lives. Steve gripped his shield tight and made a running bound to get over the nearest car. He was able to do a handspring over it, and land maybe 20 yards from his men.

It had to be a subconscious thing, to shoot at the shield. It looked like a target. 75 years and still no one shot at his legs. Not that he was complaining.

When he made it into their midst, he saw part of the problem. Among the dead was their squad leader, Mullins. Pinned down and leaderless, they hadn’t been able to advance positions. Without Echo at their flank, Delta and Charlie were trapped as well. They couldn’t take the compound.

With Steve there, he could lead them. However much he complained about the Captain America reputation, it was useful when it caused men to follow him on instinct. You saw that red, white, and blue, and suddenly everything was going to be okay. You had your leader. He yelled for them to join him, rushed forward, throwing his “mighty shield.” He knocked their gunner out of position. Penn shot another off of his ledge. They pushed. They pushed and fought and clawed their way tooth and nail to Delta and Charlie squads, leaving a line of dead drug soldiers in their wake.

“Cap!” Jack Rollins had never looked so happy to see Steve  before. “Good of you to join us.” He looked over the tattered remains of Echo and Beta squads. “This all that’s left?”

Steve nodded.

Jack swore. “We need to get our asses in gear. Rumlow went in alone to try to get El Burro before he could escape.”

“Wait, he fucking what?” Steve snarled. That stupid son of a bitch. He did not fucking go in there by himself. The Omega looked at the compound they were trying to take. It was only eight floors, but each one was guaranteed to be swarming with highly trained soldiers. One man couldn’t take that alone.

“I tried to stop him, Cap, but he _is_ my superior.” Jack was reloading all of his guns. “We need to get in there before he gets himself killed. I don’t know what the fuck he’s thinking.”

Steve did. Steve knew exactly what Brock was doing, even if the Alpha himself maybe didn’t. He was fucking showing off for the Omega he was courting. Trying to prove that he was the biggest, baddest Alpha out there, and he could take care of Steve. Maybe it was a conscious decision, maybe it was instinct. Either way, it was the first time in nearly a month of courting that Steve actually regretted allowing it.

 _You blithering idiot,_ Steve thought. _If you get yourself killed, I am never speaking to you again._

Between all of the squads, they only had 24 men left living –counting Steve and Brock, assuming he was still alive. Those were hellishly bad odds. But that was the whole point of STRIKE. Their motto was First and Last; First in, Last out. They were the ones who were called in to every bad situation. They were the elite of the elite. Former green berets and Navy SEALs and Army Rangers and, hell, even Secret Service.

“This doesn’t look good,” Steve addressed them. “But you are the toughest sons of bitches on this whole goddamned planet. STRIKE is the most elite fighting force in the world. We were born and bred for this kind of thing. And more than that, STRIKE is a family. Fuck. Our bond is stronger than that. STRIKE is a Pack. They have killed our brothers. Our commander, our Pack Master, is in danger, facing them alone. We are not going to let them go unchallenged.

“The odds are against us. So fucking what? We have faced worse odds than this before. We will face worse in the future. Now is the time to buck up and do what needs to be done. All of us, together. Are you with me?”

The men shouted “First and Last,” like a cadence call. Guns blazing, they broke through the line of foot soldiers. They surged with a mutual energy between them. It was as Steve had said –they were a Pack.  They fed off of each other –off of each other’s energy and rage and adrenaline. You didn’t kill Pack members and expect there to be no reprisals. These fuckers were about to get theirs.

The men split between Steve and Jack to take the two stairways up. “Clear every floor,” Steve ordered. Steel-toed boots pounded as they ran up each flight, then burst out into the corridors. On each floor, as they hunted their targets, was evidence that someone had been there before. Alpha-scent hung heavily in the air, relaxing Steve’s haywire Omega side. _Brock._

Three more STRIKE operatives died between the first floor and the eighth. There was no time to mourn. Small explosives kept going off. Everything was a constant volley of gunfire. Shouts. Screams. The air was heavy with smoke. It carried Brock’s scent to Steve, telling him which way to go.

The eighth floor was deathly quiet. It sent shivers up Steve’s spine. It sounded too much like a com line gone dead.

They prowled forward, trying not to break the stillness and spring a trap. Steve stayed on point. He knew Brock was up here. El Burro probably was too. Rollins and his team approached from the other side. They all spread out, clearing rooms.

Room after room was empty. What the hell? Was their intel this wrong? They left the central room for last, knowing it was where El Burro was waiting, if he was still in the building.

Rollins had a man in place to ram the door down. “Either they’re all in there, and we’re walking in to Rumlow’s body and an ambush, or Burro had to send all of his men out to deal with us,” he told Steve.

“Here’s hoping for the second.” Steve raised his hand to give the signal –

Two gunshots rang out.

An anguished scream followed.

Steve dropped his hand and the door was rammed open. He and Rollins took point, prepared to start shooting as soon as they got in.

It wasn’t necessary.

The room held two men: El Burro, shot through the head, and Brock Rumlow, on his six on the floor, holding a bleeding gunshot wound in his chest.

Steve swore and ran to the Alpha. He was going pale under his tan. Starting to shake.

“Dead,” Rollins called out, checking El Burro over.

“Why didn’t you wait for us?” Steve growled at the idiot under him. He ripped his limited med pack off of his belt and started pulling out bandages. There wasn’t much he could do but apply pressure. Their medic was back at the rendezvous point –Rumlow had deemed it too dangerous for him to be in the thick of the action on this one. Real fucking smart, Brock.

Steve used every ounce of his not-inconsiderable upper body strength to staunch the wound. Brock passed out completely at some point, as the puddle of blood grew larger. Rollins injected him with some SHIELD-created biofuckery so that they could move him. Steve watched his team mates carry his intended Alpha down the stairs on a makeshift stretcher, and tried not to lose his shit.

Rollins clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, we have to go.”

Steve looked at the blood covering his hands. Bile clawed up his throat and he had to swallow several times. A panic attack was pounding in his chest, threatening to overtake him. Part of him wanted to let it. Most of him was still the current leader of STRIKE, and had to get his bedraggled men back home.

Halfway through the flight back, the medic pronounced Brock “Critical, but stable.”

Steve buried his face in his hands and choked back a sob of relief.

 

Fury was Not Happy. Steve had seen him angry before, but somehow this seemed worse. Rollins had been dismissed to go write condolence letters. Rumlow was in the critical care section of the Triskelion’s own hospital. Steve stood at parade rest in front of an unnecessarily large desk in Fury’s office.

“Look, Cap, I’m gonna be really blunt about this,” The Director said. “I’m aware of your situation with Brock Rumlow.”

“How?” Steve asked. He thought they had been pretty covert about it.

Fury seemed to know what he was thinking. “Because Rumlow’s not stupid. It would have cost both of you, but mostly him, your commissions to hide something like that. Dating within your department is strictly prohibited at SHIELD. However, it is allowed in STRIKE. Rumlow wrote up and submitted the fraternization form three months ago, after you came back from your heat leave.”

“If we’re not doing anything wrong, I don’t see how it’s your business,” Steve said coolly.

Fury actually laughed at that. “You didn’t care if you were doing something wrong. Believe it or not, I actually admire that. In certain circumstances. _However_ ,” Fury’s tone turned. “As the Director of SHIELD and STRIKE, I do reserve the right to reassign one or both of you if your relationship endangers a mission. What Rumlow did to try to impress you is the very definition of endangering a mission. He was a fucking idiot. If Pierce had his way, we would demote him back down to a Lieutenant and never let him so much as lead a squad again. That’s what the entire World Security Council wants us to do.”

“Director Fury that would-“ Steve began.

“Be a terrible decision,” Fury agreed. “I have no interest in doing that. Rumlow is the most effective Commander since old Eleanor Mott herself. She actually handpicked him for the position, did you know that? Rumlow commands STRIKE well, and they work together flawlessly under him. It’s almost a Pack dynamic, and he’s their Pack Master.

“But, I do have to do something to mollify the Council. Therefore, effective immediately, you are no longer a member of STRIKE. You are an Agent of SHIELD, and will be partnered with Agent Natasha Romanoff.”

Steve’s default reaction was to argue, but as soon as he opened his mouth, it hit him what Fury said. That…wasn’t a punishment. That barely even counted as being reassigned. Natasha did a solid 75% of her missions paired up with Delta and/or Charlie squad.

Fury’s eye was glinting with mirth. He had a definite “Just pulled one over on a motherfucker” expression.

“I understand, Sir.” Steve rolled his tense shoulders. “I accept this reassignment and I will report for duty…?”

“First thing Monday morning.”

It was only Thursday.

“I will be in Agent Romanoff’s office on Monday.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

 

Steve absolutely did not run down to medical –oh what the hell, yes he did, with many an “On your left!” as he passed.

A kind nurse named Megan, who had treated Steve a number of times, let him into Brock’s room. The Alpha was still unconscious, but he was expected to make a full recovery. Steve dropped heavily into a chair and it mercifully didn’t break under his combined weight and strength. He tipped his head back for a moment.

“I’m getting reassigned,” He told Brock. “We aren’t going to be able to work together anymore. Fury, Pierce, and the Council think that you went after El Burro alone to impress me. I kinda do too. And if you did, that was fucking stupid. We’re going to have to have a talk.” He leaned forward in the chair and took Brock’s hand. “But for now, I’m just glad you’re alive.”

 

 

 

“You’re not nearly as convenient to me dead, you know.”

“Yes, Sir. Forgive me, Sir. It was a risk/reward assessment. I couldn’t guarantee El Burro’s silence if we took him alive. Agent Romanoff is too good. I figured Rogers wouldn’t let a captive out of his sight once we grabbed him, so there was no good way to kill him with the others present.”

“If you had been killed, Rogers would have been called upon to lead STRIKE.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to. Rollins would have done it. I was prepared to sacrifice myself to that end. Nothing must get in the way of Insight.”

“Very good.  You did manage to get our dear Captain transferred back under SHIELD’s command. And you did it without anyone getting the chance to speak to El Burro. The Heads are pleased. Hail HYDRA!”

“Hail HYDRA.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN
> 
> Anyhoo! Unfortunately, I am way behind on writing. I was trying to maintain a cushion of at least 3-4 chapters so that it would force me to write, and I would be able to update even when things happened. Well, things happened and my cushion went bye-bye. This is chapter 8. I just finished writing chapter 10. I am thinking of extending things out by waiting a few days to publish the special birthday chapter. Then one more chapter of nice, happy domesticity. Then Angst. Capital A Angst. Then Bucky! Bucky IS coming, I promise. Trust me, I love Bucky. Bucky will be there. And then there will be feelings about that, from all involved parties. So that is the State of the Fic, for those interested.


	9. Chapter 9

“You wanna go, Rogers?” Brock shoved Steve back. “You wanna fucking go?”

“What’re you gonna do, Rumlow?” Steve moved right into the Alpha’s face.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna beat your ass! You smug sonovabitch! … I swear to fucking god, Rogers, _stop tickling me_!”

Steve tossed his head back and laughed. But he did stop tickling Brock. He was nice like that. They were cuddled up on Steve’s couch, watching Warrior. It was a good movie. It’d seriously made Brock tear up a little. Steve was enjoying being the big spoon. Oh he loved being the little spoon, no doubt, but he had more than half a foot and 50 pounds on the Alpha, and there was something nice about curling up around his lover.

Brock’s too-bright eyes had prompted Steve to try to make him smile. It worked, too. His Alpha was hiding a grin in the crook of his arm. Steve chuckled and peppered kisses into the dark hair in front of him. He slipped his hand up the brunet’s tee shirt to rest his hand on the pucker of newly-healed skin.

His Alpha was okay. Steve had proof of that laying in his arms. He just had to keep reminding himself. Thankfully, Brock didn’t mind. He didn’t mind Steve curling around him, or needing to feel around the edges of the scar. It didn’t bother him when the Omega pressed fingers to his pulse points to count the steady beats of his heart. They’d slept in the same bed every night since Brock’s release from the hospital, excepting two when Steve had been on a mission with Natasha.

God or Fury or somebody (Maria Hill) understood that they needed a moment. They were both on call, but not expected to come in. This was enough. This was good. They could just take a moment and breathe together.

Of course, Brock was grinding his hips backwards into Steve’s, so maybe he intended more than just breathing. Not that Steve would complain. Nope, not at all. Steve thrust his hips forward, and Brock went _mmph_.

“Bedroom?” Steve asked. Sure, couch sex was fun. But the Omega _needed_ to be careful and gentle with his Alpha right now. So. Bed. The brunet nodded. Steve scooped him up easily and carried him to the bedroom.

Den, really. It was his den. This was the room where they had shared Steve’s heat. Brock had turned it into a proper den; made his bed into a nest. Steve hadn’t exactly washed _every_ sheet. The smell was comforting. Sue him.

He laid his Alpha out on the bed as carefully as he could. He’d been cleared to return to duty, but that wasn’t good enough for Steve. Brock seemed to appreciate it. He pulled Steve close to his chest and kissed him lovingly. “You’re so sweet to me, Baby.” Another kiss. “Do me a favor?”

“Anything, Brock,” Steve breathed. He didn’t realize how much he meant it until he said it.

“Take your fucking clothes off so that I can see you.”

Steve laughed and crawled back off the bed. He shucked off his shirt quickly, but paused at his pants. “I…um…”

Brock quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t laugh. I’ll be right back.” Steve scuttled into the en suite before Brock could say anything. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but oh fuck it. He dropped his pants and boxers, and reached under the sink for the bag he had stashed there. For the life of him, Steve couldn’t say what had made him buy the damn things.

He had seen them in the window of a store that catered to both male and female Omegas. They were the same bright, royal blue as his original uniform. Something about the lace was so appealing, so sweet looking. With his height and cut muscles, Steve didn’t tend to look sweet. And…well, fuck it all, sometimes he wanted to! The lace was soft and the “boyshorts” cut clung to him like a second skin. They weren’t “cheeky.” Steve hadn’t been entirely prepared for that.

He popped his head back into the bedroom. Brock was watching him expectantly. He tried to say…something. Whatever. His mouth wasn’t working. He was blushing from his chest up, but fuck it! He stepped into the bedroom and tried to keep eye contact.

Brock’s eyes went real wide. His mouth dropped open. He snapped it closed to swallow a few times. He sat up and made grabby hands at the Omega. “Steve, c’mere. C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” The blond stepped into his arms obligingly. “Ho-ly shit, Darlin’! You look so fucking sexy in these.”

Steve grinned. “You like ‘em?”

“Babe, I can’t even.” Brock reached behind him and grabbed his ass through the lace. “Please tell me you’re open for wearing these often?”

“How often his often?” Steve chuckled.

Brock slapped his ass. “Under your uniform?”

Steve sputtered trying to say no to that. Brock just laughed and got him into a hold and tossed him onto the bed. “Ass up, please!” Steve got up like he was presenting. Brock gripped the globes of his ass in both hands and squeezed. He massaged over the lace like he was hypnotized. Steve wiggled his ass back into those big hands. “Fucking gorgeous,” Brock growled. He smacked Steve’s ass again.

He mumbled something like “Fetish I didn’t even know I had.” He bit over where his hand had just slapped. “I did not know how much I needed these in my life.” He pulled back and fell into a hilarious writhing pile to get his clothes off as soon as possible. Steve didn’t know Brock could be so graceless. But he popped back up to rut up against the crease of his Omega’s ass.

Steve moaned as his Alpha’s cock rubbed into his slit through the cloth. “Brock,” he hissed. “Don’t tease. Just fuck me.”

Brock draped over his back. “But I like these, Babe. And I can’t fuck you if they’re on.”

“Then you’re not very creative,” Steve sassed.

Brock slapped his ass again. “Well, I worried you were attached to them.”

“They’ve served their purpose.”

“I see.” The Alpha wiggled back and pressed kisses at random places along his Omega’s back and bottom. He moved slowly towards the center. Then –his teeth snapped over the center seam of the panties and he jerked his head back and up. There was a pinch for a moment, then _riiiip_. And Brock thrust his tongue straight through the tear and into Steve’s wet cunt before the Omega had time to prepare.

“Oh shit!” Steve dropped on his elbows, forehead to the mattress. “Fuck, Brock.”

Brock groaned into his flesh. He flicked his tongue in and out rapidly, fucking Steve with the muscle while he writhed back into the sensation. Then he curled his tongue. Every time he pulled it back, it popped against Steve’s rim with an obscene noise. Steve squawked embarrassingly when his Alpha reached up into the panties to start jerking him off in time with his tongue.

The brunet had said more than once that nothing was better than bringing his dear Omega to multiple orgasms; so Steve didn’t bother holding any of them back. He’d just get more. Brock was not a “one and done” kind of guy just because Alphas could only come once outside of a heat/rut cycle. Steve’s come made a mess of the lace and Brock’s hand, and his pussy gushed into his Alpha’s mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His Alpha pulled back and laughed. “Fuck, you’re delicious, Babe.”

“Brock,” Steve moaned.

“I’m right here, Darlin’.” The Omega found himself bodily flipped over. “Sorry, but these sexy little things are hotter than I’d have ever imagined.” He reached down and ripped the hole a bit bigger to accommodate what was about to go through them.

Steve loved that he was going to be fucked through the panties. Such a good investment. Yay 21st century. Yay Steve.

Brock lined up and slid home in one smooth movement. “Steve,” He growled. He buried his face into his Omega’s neck and nibbled a line up. “Ready for me, Darlin’?”

“Yes,” Steve hissed. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.” He wrapped his legs around his Alpha’s trim waist. The brunet tilted his head up for a sweet kiss. It was one slow moment out of time, where the entire world came down to just the contact between their bodies. Then Brock grabbed Steve’s knees and shoved them up towards his chest. And fucked him as requested.

Steve arched up off the bed as Brock set a punishing pace. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck….!” He tossed his head back. Brock was pounding him hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. His hands scabbled along the Alpha’s biceps, leaving claw marks on the tanned flesh. He matched his partner thrust for thrust, driving his cock in deep.

“Shit, Steve,” Brock gasped. “I’m not gonna last long. You’re so goddamned tight.”

“Go ahead,” Steve said. He rocked his hips harder, fucking onto the Alpha rough as he could. “Come. Brock, Babe, come. Come inside’a me.” He repeated it over and over, voice gravely from pleasure. He wanted his Alpha to come inside of him. He wanted to feel that wet heat inside his body. He wanted to feel marked and claimed. Brock wouldn’t bite him, wouldn’t mate him, but this, at least, he would do.

Brock’s orgasm rippled through him in a stuttering rhythm that left Steve bruised where he gripped. As he was flooded with semen, Steve surprised himself by coming completely untouched. Brock rolled the lace panties down and swiped his fingers through the evidence of his Omega’s two orgasms. Keeping eye contact with the blond, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean. Once, twice, three times he did it until Steve was completely cleaned off.

By the time he was done with that, Brock’s short, out-of-rut knot had deflated enough to pull it out and pull Steve into his arms. The Omega pulled the panties the rest of the way off and tossed them to the floor. “Steve,” Brock mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“I already do.”

Brock chuckled nervously.

“You wanna keep them, don’t you?” Steve asked.

“…Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“They smell like you. And sex. I love those smells.”

“Yeah, yeah. I still have one of your shirts. And I didn’t clean all of the sheets after my heat. I kept two that smelled like you.”

Brock kissed Steve’s forehead. “Oh, my love….” He said fondly. And stiffened a bit.

Steve tilted his head up to look his Alpha in the eye. He kept his face studiously neutral. He watched several emotions flash over Brock’s face, before he settled on a combination of surprise and determination. The Alpha squared his shoulders, and met Steve’s eyes. “I love you, Steve.”

Steve panicked. And then…didn’t. No. It made sense. It felt right. And he agreed. Or, not agreed? Felt the same? Felt the same. That was it. He could feel a smile threatening his lips. And Brock was starting to look a little uneasy, so he let it free. He grinned. A laugh bubbled up from his chest. _Brock loved him!_ How about that!

And Brock’s confidence was rapidly draining from his eyes. Oh right. Maybe Steve should say something. He kissed his Alpha’s slack mouth. “I love you too, Brock.”

His Alpha let out a sigh. He kissed Steve back and then trailed kisses up his cheek, to his temple, to his hair. Steve nuzzled into Brock’s neck, into his scent gland. He was happy and warm and dozing into that content feeling that he only got with Brock.

“We can do this,” He mumbled before he even realized it.

“Do what, my love?” Brock sounded sleepy.

“Be together,” Steve replied.

“Good. I want to be with you. I want to be with you forever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry. I know. Depression is a bitch, y'all. I'm working on it. I have the next five chapters planned. I just need to write them. I promise you I will work on it all weekend. And next week, my fiance will be out of town for several days, so I won't have any distractions.


	10. Steve's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT A CHAPTER: Happy Birthday, Steve!  
> Author’s Note: Okay, so it turns out I actually have noooo idea of when the various sportsball events happen. Baseball starts in the summer and ends at the end of October-ish. Football starts in September and ends in February. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking for any of that, but I realize it messes with my timeline a bit. I apologize for any confusion. Please enjoy this piece written for the Fourth of July, which takes place after Steve and Brock start hanging out for baseball watching, and before Steve’s heat.

“Wake up.” Someone was kicking Steve’s bed. _What the fuck_ \- He shot up and grabbed for his shield, which wasn’t there, because this wasn’t the war and he kept it in the living room closet. But the pistol Natasha had given him was under his pillow, so he ended up pointing it at Brock Rumlow.

To his credit, the commander seemed to realize that he’d done something stupid. He’d taken a step back, put his hands up, and there was a pinch between his eyebrows. “Sorry, Steve.”

The blond put the gun away. “Don’t fucking sneak up on a soldier, Rumlow.”

“Brock,” the Alpha corrected automatically. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here?”

“Need-to-know, Steve. Get up and get dressed. Civvies.” Brock let Steve’s bedroom and closed the door behind him. Steve clambered out of bed and stumbled into a pair of jeans and one of those ridiculous Under Armor shirts. Moisture-wicking socks were in serious contention for the best invention of the 21st century. What he would have given for those during the war! He laced up his blue tennis shoes, grabbed his wallet, put on his aviators, and walked out to Brock holding a protein shake in four minutes flat.

Steve drank it unenthusiastically, but the coffee that followed made up for it. “So what are we doing?”

“Do you know what today is?” Brock asked.

“Independence Day,” Steve answered.

“Yeah, and?”

“And what?”

Brock looked physically pained. “Who was born on the Fourth of July?” He asked slowly, like he was talking to a none-too-bright child.

“Oh.” Steve laughed. “Me.”

The Alpha sighed heavily. “I’m gonna chalk that up to waking you up early. Anyway. We’re going to go grab a bite, then I have something fun planned for you.”

Steve’s heart pounded up into his throat. “We’re gonna go…celebrate my birthday?”

“Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah. Of course. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

The pinch was back between Brock’s eyebrows. He stepped around the kitchen counter and up to Steve. There was a second’s hesitation, then he wrapped his arms around the Omega in a hug that he stiffened, then relaxed into. “Your birthday is worth celebrating, Steve.”

Didn’t that just cut right into the meat of Steve’s chest.

Brock didn’t drop his arms. Didn’t let go.

And for just a moment, Steve couldn’t either. He was bigger than the Alpha, so it wasn’t like he was being held in. In fact, he was pretty sure Brock was standing on his toes to get his arms over Steve’s shoulders. Despite that, he felt completely surrounded by the embrace. It was soft and comforting. Much like when Brock held his hand on the couch during baseball games, and let him curl up against his side, this soothed a ragged part of Steve’s mind.

Right up until the moment when it made his anxiety spike because he was holding on for too long. He snapped back from Brock’s arms, and wrapped his own around himself to fend off the immediate withdrawal. _Don’t put it on him, Steve,_ he thought to himself. _Don’t make it more than what it is._

Brock’s face was completely closed off and it sent a stab through Steve’s heart. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” Steve asked.

“Jerk back like you got burned. I know you, Steve. People are supposed to have touch. It’s normal. It’s okay to want something that everybody needs. And what else are friends for?” Brock reached out a hand, making the offer.

Steve’s eyes might have slipped closed for a second when Brock called them friends. It wasn’t something he could ever get tired of hearing. He put his hand in the Alpha’s, and reveled in the familiarity of the gesture. “I just don’t want to…” _Ask too much. Make you feel obligated. Scare you off so I lose something I need so much that it would scare you off to tell you._

“If there is anything you need and it is in my power to give it to you, I will.” A heartbeat passed, and Brock smiled. “Especially something as simple as this! And besides, it’s your birthday. You can have anything you want today.” His eyes were pure mischief.

“Anything I want?” Steve teased.

“Anything,” Brock confirmed.

“But what if I just wanted to stay here on the couch and watch the Dodgers game?”

Brock laughed. “We can do that. Or we can go do something much more fun. Just make up your mind quick, because I can smell the bacon cooking from here.”

Steve grinned. “Well I know you have something planned. I won’t ruin it. You look too proud of yourself. C’mon.”

 

They drove to the Moonshine Diner, a frequent post-mission haunt for STRIKE Team Alpha. The moment they walked through the door, Kelly called back to the kitchen, “Mix up more batter, boys. Captain America is in the house.”

Between the two of them, Steve and Brock downed 31 pancakes, two pounds of bacon, and four pots of coffee. It took them until 10:30 to eat, mostly from cooking delays. They talked about their teammates, and Brock asked about what kinds of things Steve had done for his birthday before the war. Nothing touched the weightiness of what they’d talked about at Steve’s apartment.

As they left, Brock dawdled a bit on the way to the car. “Now that I know you’ve got some caffeine, here.”  He tossed Steve his keys.

“Wait, are you serious?” Steve eyed the Camaro.

“Yeah, and I won’t offer again. So decided if you think you’re ready.” Rollins had been teaching Steve how to drive again. He’d been doing pretty well, but he hadn’t driven anything like Brock’s beloved car. He knew what a big deal it was for Brock to offer.

Steve backed out of the parking spot carefully, switched gears, and crept through the parking lot. Brock relaxed in the passenger’s seat, watching his driver rather than the road. They snailed out into D.C. holiday traffic with Metallica blaring. “You can let her out later tonight. Really _feel_ how the engine purrs. Unfortunately, we’re going to be stop-and-go most of the day. Turn left at the light, ‘nd head towards the Mall.”

Well that took nearly 45 minutes with all of the tourists. It was okay though, because the Camaro was nice and cool with the AC going. The supple leather of the steering wheel felt great in Steve’s hands. Brock rested a hand on Steve’s knee and stroked back and forth with his thumb while they chatted about all the rules football didn’t have back in Steve’s day.

They ended up having to pack by the FDR Memorial, but there really wasn’t much of a walk that would be too much for either of them. “So where are we going?” Steve asked again as they walked up Independence.

Brock dodged around a stroller and jerked his chin forward. “Air and Space Museum. We’re going through the Cap exhibit!”

Steve laughed. The crowd pushed them close, and he had to grab Brock’s arm to keep him from getting knocked off the sidewalk. “Really? Natasha already took me through it.”

The Alpha pulled his arm out of Steve’s hand. Then he stuck his hand in its place. “I know, it was her idea. She said there’s something in there you need to see pretty regular.” He stroked Steve’s knuckles.

The Omega felt giddy from them just casually holding hands in public. People would get all kinds of the wrong ideas. “The memorial wall.” Even that wasn’t enough to sober him. It would, once he was in there, looking at that larger than life image of Bucky, listening to the narrator drone on about how they were inseparable.

If they were truly inseparable, Steve would have jumped.

A squeeze on his hand pulled him back. “Is that okay? I thought you’d like a moment.”

“It’s great, Brock. Thank you.”

Brock waved at a security guard as they went in, and they passed the line. They meandered slowly through the museum, still holding hands like they were a courting pair or something. The Captain America exhibit was on the far side of the top floor, across from the theater. Red, white, and blue uplighting led the way, and the outside wall had more bunting than a presidential inauguration.

“Give me just a sec, Steve,” Brock said when they reached the entrance. “You go on in.”

Steve shrugged and went on alone. He figured the other man must have wanted to give him some illusion of privacy. He didn’t pay much attention to the exhibit. Nothing he didn’t already know. But the noise faded out as he got lost in the past, and he relaxed despite the crowd.

The James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes Memorial Wall had been elegantly crafted. He remembered something about Peggy having a hand in the design, intended for a Captain America and Howling Commandos memorial on the hundredth anniversary, which would be long after her time. It wasn’t the best photo, not the one Steve would have chosen, but maybe that was how Peggy had seen Bucky.

He had the inscription memorized. He had the narration memorized. He could recite it perfectly in time with the recording, same inflections and everything. But…it wasn’t playing. Should he tell someone? He turned around, looking for Brock.

It was all dark around him. Brock was standing just inside the ring of light cast on the Memorial Wall. The rest of the exhibit was empty. “You’ve got time,” he said. “I convinced the curator to close the exhibit for half an hour. I know you don’t have a headstone to visit. And you have to share this place with the rest of the country. So, for a little while at least, you can have a moment.”

Steve felt his eyes prick. He hadn’t known this was possible. Hadn’t known how much he wanted it until now. He couldn’t imagine the effort Brock had gone through to get this done for him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anything, Steve.” Brock’s smile looked a little sad. He started to back out “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait,” Steve took a half step towards the Alpha. “Please don’t.” Brock came back. “I’d prefer it if you were here.”

The peace and privacy let him soak in the memories. The presence at his back kept him from feeling lonely.

“I met Bucky when I was eight years old,” He began. “We spent our childhoods together. Everyone knows it. They talk about how we were the closest of friends. No one talks about him sitting behind me during asthma attacks, holding me back against him, telling me to breathe with him. Begging me to breathe. We’d only been friends for three months when he saw the first one. He saw how my mom handled it, and next time it happened, he jumped in.

“He begged me to breathe. Begged me not to die. Said I was already the best friend he’d ever had, and I wasn’t allowed to leave him. Every time it happened. When I found him after Azzano, I saw him having a panic attack a few days later. I did the same thing. Begged him to just breathe through it, and to not leave me alone. I told him that we could be mates now; the serum had fixed my health. We could have kids after the war. And for a while, it seemed like everything was going to work out.”

Steve took a deep, jagged breath before he continued. “When he fell, I wanted to kill Zola. I nearly did. I kept going to complete the mission, but I regretted it every second after I got back to base. I kept wishing I had jumped. I should have gone after him. Everyone said that the fall would have killed me. And even if it didn’t, it killed him, so it wasn’t like I would have gained anything. I would have ruined the mission and New York would have been bombed, and the war probably would have been lost. I like to thinks that some civilians gave him a decent burial. Somebody carved his name on a piece of rock, from his dog tags. Maybe said a few words. I like to think that it’s green. I don’t want to think about snow. I hate snow.”

There came two sharp raps from somewhere in the distance, and Brock set a hand on his shoulder. “We have to go. They need to reopen the exhibit.”

Steve didn’t linger. Just turned and left. If he turned back for one more glance, he would never leave.

 

It was almost 1:00 as they made it back to the car. Steve handed Brock back his keys, and they rode in silence. Steve couldn’t say where they were or where they were going. It was half an hour before Brock asked “Would you prefer to go home?”

Steve made himself zone back in. “I didn’t know you had something else planned.”

“Yeah. Nothing major, though,” The brunet explained. “I can take you back home.”

“No, it’s okay. Let’s keep going.” Steve hesitated, but part of him needed to say it. Dr. de Vega would be proud. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Brock took his hand off the gearshift for a moment to give the Omega’s a squeeze. “One’a these days, Steve, you’re gonna realize that I’m not just gonna leave you alone.”

They stopped at Nationals Park. Steve gaped out the window. The Washington Nationals were playing the Los Angeles Dodgers. Brock had brought him to see their team! He bounced out of the car at the valet booth and turned around to see the manager yank the Camaro keys out of some carbuncular youth’s hopeful hands.

“You can’t even drive a stick!” He yelled, before gleefully getting behind the wheel of a car he had likely dreamed about for years.

Brock looked terrified. “I changed my mind,” he whispered. “I want to park her myself.”

Steve laughed as his melancholy mood lifted further. “They’ll be nice to her. Look at ‘em. Every man here worships her.” The Alpha cast one more frightened look at his car before he loops his arm around the Omega’s shoulders and led him inside.

 

This game, they didn’t wait until the 7th inning to hold hands. Sure, they were out of their seats a lot, jumping up to cheer whenever things got exciting, or chasing down a vendor. And they ate a lot. And they went drink for drink with each other on the stadium’s beer. But other than that, they held hands the whole time.

And maybe Steve would never tell Brock that the best parts of this birthday surprise that he had planned so meticulously hadn’t been where he’d taken Steve, but what he’d said and what he’d done. _Your birthday is worth celebrating. You don’t have to do that; jerk away like you were burned. One of these days, you’re gonna realize that I’m not gonna leave you alone._ Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe none of it was true, and Brock was just being nice. He was a nice guy. Or maybe he was just keeping Steve mission-ready, by letting him be a pain in the ass for a few hours a week. But Steve thought about that possibility all the fucking time, and today he just wanted it to be true. Even if for 354 other days out of the year, Brock was just putting up with his pathetic ass for reasons unknown, today, _fucking today_ , Steve would believe that he wasn’t a burden, and they were really friends.

The Dodgers won the game. That had the two of them up off their feet again, cheering and yelling and carrying on. Steve swept Brock up off of his feet, and actually spun him around. Brock tossed his head back and laughed. “Yeah, yeah, stop showing off, Mr. Six-Foot-Two!”

Those hazel eyes were so happy and open, Steve really did let himself believe it.

 

They capped off the night on the roof of Steve’s building, watching the fireworks over the Potomac. Brock had brought over lawn chairs, which they hauled up, along with a nice bottle of Italian wine and a little strawberry cake that he had stashed in Steve’s fridge before waking him up that morning. They ate quietly; not so much because they were tired or uncomfortable or didn’t have anything to say, but more because there was no point trying to yell over the brightly colored explosions in the sky.

When the last of the sparklers finally died down, Steve turned to the other man with a smile. “Thank you for today.”

“You’re welcome,” Brock grinned back.

“I mean all of it. Everything was perfect. I don’t know how you got them to clear out the exhibit at the Smithsonian, but I really, really appreciated it.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Brock demurred. “And we needed to do something to celebrate your birthday. You shut yourself off a lot, Steve. But you’re working with STRIKE now. A lot of our traditions are non-optional. We miss a lot of holidays and special occasions because of work. And honestly, we never know when we’ll never get to celebrate another one again. So we make a big deal out of things, just in case.

“Usually, all available operatives, or at least the ones in your squad, celebrate with you. But I figured it was best not to mob you with everyone all at once. Next time, all of Delta Squad will be with you. It’s just what we do.”

It made Steve feel both better and worse to know that Brock did this for all of his guys. That made sense. Steve was just another one of this operatives. And yet…here they were alone. Brock had taken the entire burden of planning and implementing this on himself. He had made the day so special, in a way that a company function could never be.

It felt cheesy to even think it, but Steve couldn’t deny that he would cherish this day for the rest of his life. “I’ll never forget this, Brock.”

The Alpha just smiled.

After Brock left, Steve found a packaged on his kitchen counter, wrapped in simple silver paper. When he opened the box, he nearly dropped it. Nestled in blue tissue paper was a set of artists pencils and a beautiful black leather sketchbook, embossed with a red star. The card inside read:

_Happy Birthday, Steve!_

_Stop doodling on the margins of the reports and forms you fill out. Every one of them has to be redone. Use this instead, so that you can actually keep what you draw. You’re a talented artist, I had no idea._

_Brock_

 

Tired as he was, Steve carried the sketchbook and pencils to his writing desk. He sharpened a pencil with his knife –also a gift from Brock, but in a very different context- until it had just the right edge. It seemed only right to him that the first drawing in this book be of Brock, head tossed back in laughter, little creases at the corners of his eyes.

And if the second was of the two of them together, no particular place or time, just together…well, that was Steve’s business. It was his birthday. He could draw what he wanted.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've given up even trying to make excuses anymore. This chapter was delayed due to who I am as a person.

“Steve,” Brock’s voice was husky over the phone.

Steve pulled his head out of the freezer and yelled towards the speakerphone “Yeah, Babe?”

“Geez, Love, you don’t have to yell,” Brock scolded. “These Starkphones can pick up a pin drop.”

“Sorry,” Steve said in more normal tones. He grabbed the phone and they both went back into the freezer. “What’s up?”

“I need to cancel for tomorrow,” Brock said. “I’m sorry.”

“I was about to call you and tell you the same thing,” Steve said.

“Oh.”

“I think we might be cancelling for the same reason,” Steve laughed a little. It wasn’t a humorous laugh. Could laughs be defeated?

“Shit, you too?” Brock chuckled. “I didn’t think our cycles could sync up that fast. Explains why it’s so _much_ though. I haven’t been with an Omega in six years. Betas don’t cause this.”

“Nah, yeah, betas are great,” Steve mumbled. “I already let Fury know, so I’m out for the next 7-9 days. Because betas are great.” Brock just laughed. “So…does that mean you want to come over?” _Oooh, don’t get your hopes so far up, Steve_ , the Omega cautioned himself. _That never ends well._

  _No, everything ends well with Brock_ , his alternative internal voice said. _Now shut the hell up and let me enjoy this._

“I don’t think that’s a great idea, Steve,” Brock replied. “I want to. You know I want to. But…” Brock sighed. Steve heard a thud on the other end. “I have a hard time controlling myself around you sometimes. And that’s 100% me. I’m not blaming you. My ability to control myself is my problem. You know how I feel about you. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I don’t think I would, but I’m scared that in the heat of the moment, I might.”

Steve’s brain was having a hard time keeping up. “Are you saying you would bite me?” He shifted a few bags of peas to use as a pillow. “You want to mate with me?”

There was a very heavy pause on the line. Then – “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Oh. Oh wow. Oh wow that was a lot to process at once. “Brock, I have to go think about this. I’ll call you back.” And Steve hung up the phone before his Alpha could say anything. He slid out of the freezer and onto the floor. There was a lot to process here, and the kitchen floor seemed like a good place to do it.

The tiles were cool, anyway.

He and Brock had been together officially for just over seven months. Since then, Steve had been reassigned out of STRIKE, which Brock actually thought was good for their relationship. If Steve just got called in on STRIKE missions with Natasha, then he wasn’t actually Brock’s subordinate. Brock cared about that sort of thing a lot.

Steve had explained that he didn’t. Said that he came from a different time, and that Bucky had always been in charge in their relationship, but had been respectful about it. Explained that he didn’t mind not always being in the lead in his personal life, since he was expected to be in charge as Captain America.

Brock had kissed him gently and said “You and me are equals, Steve. In every way. I don’t mind if you want me to take point on the small things; decide where we eat dinner, drive when we go out, things like that. But in everything that matters, I want us to be equal. I’m never going to take your bank account from you, or try to control who you’re friends with. That just isn’t how things are anymore.”

And Steve’s heart had melted more than a little at that. Brock sent him a link to information on something called “BDSM.” While he didn’t think he was into the whips and chains and that sort of thing (though Brock had quite a way with the violet wand), he loved the idea of the mutual respect between a dominant and submissive. Maybe he was just old fashioned, but that was what he wanted.

Brock was happy to provide. He didn’t hide their relationship from anyone. STRIKE actually overwhelmingly approved. They didn’t mind that Steve sat to Brock’s left during briefings for missions he would be on. Cynthia, STRIKE’s administrative assistant, did take exception to Brock nearabout biting her hand off when she brought Steve coffee and a donut, but she got over it. She was an Omega too. She understood that Alphas liked to be the ones to feed their Omegas.

Brock loved to feed Steve. However much he did before, when he was courting Steve “subtly,” it was tenfold now. Turned out, he was a fantastic cook. Perks of growing up Italian. “This is the one place I’ll be pushy,” his Alpha explained, before he took over all of Steve’s meals. He always had breakfast delivered to Steve’s new office in the morning. Made it himself, then had an intern bring it to Steve. Housekeeping was on permanent orders to make sure that the blinds were open in Steve’s office in the morning, and that the thermostat modifications he made be left alone.

Steve got an email from Pepper one afternoon, telling him that Brock had called Tony to ask for a way to permanently override the thermostat. Tony, being against all things establishment, and, as an Omega, against all things cold, had gleefully taught Brock how to hack into SHIELD’s control unit and bump the heat in one office to 78 degrees year round.

Most days, Brock brought Steve his lunch, or they went and got food together. If the Alpha was unable to get away, or on a mission, an intern brought something. Brock honest to god stuck notes in Steve’s lunch. His personal favorite was “I hope your day is as nice as your ass.”

They met up at the end of the work day to decide where to go for dinner –Brock usually picked the restaurant himself, since he knew the area better, but asking what kind of food Steve wanted was part of his equality thing. If Brock wanted to cook, they went back to his place. Food, movie, sex, and then Steve stayed the night. Not always in that order, but Brock always drove Steve back to work in the morning.

The best one of those nights was probably the one when they fucked on the couch as soon as they walked through the door because they’d gotten stuck in rush hour traffic, so Steve’s natural reaction had been to undo his seatbelt and give Brock road head while they waited. Afterwards Brock started up chicken Parmesan while Steve read on the couch. Then Mama Rumlow called.

Brock put his phone on speaker to enthusiastically converse with his mother while cooking. It was all rapid Italian, until Steve recognized an insult Mrs. Rumlow threw and laughed, and she asked “Who’s there with you, Brock?”

“That’s Steve, Mama. Steve, come say hi to Mama!”

“Brock did you say Steve? _The_ Steve?” Her New York accent was so strong it made Steve’s heart hurt. Even though it was Lower East Side, and not his mother’s Brooklyn-Dundalk burr, it still made him miss her.

Steve shot Brock questioning look, and Brock grinned. “Yes, Mama, the Steve. The Steve I’m courting.”

“Good evening, Ma’am,” Steve said.

“Oh he’s so polite! Steve, dear, call me Mama. Everyone does. I’m so glad to talk to you, finally. I was starting to think my son was hiding you from me. But he talks about you all the time. When are you two coming up to New York? I need to meet the boy my son is so smitten with!”

“Smitten?” Steve mouthed. Brock blushed.

“Maybe over Christmas, Mama. You know our time off isn’t exactly certain.”

“Don’t make excuses, Brock. You can find a way to bring your intended to meet your family. But, you’re cooking. You need to focus on cooking. I will call you later.”

“Si, Mama. Ti voglio bene,” Brock smiled down at the sauce he was stirring.

“Ti voglio bene, figlio mio. Good night, Steve.”

“Good night, Mama.”

Two days later, Brock brought Steve a box with several loaves of bread and some candies. “Mama really liked you. She baked, and express overnighted it.”

 

Unfortunately, they weren’t able to make it to New York for Christmas. They ended up getting called into Chechnya. Thankfully, Brock no longer tried to impress Steve on missions. They went in, rescued the hostages, and got out before Steve had time to see his Alpha so much as flex.

They’d come home to Brock’s festively decorated apartment, showered, turned on the glittering lights, and tossed every sheet, blanket, and pillow they had in front of the tree. Slow kissing turned hot in a breath and they peeled each other out of their pajamas. Brock held Steve close while they ground together, whispering “Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo,” between kisses.

Steve wrapped a leg under Brock and flipped them over. He laughed triumphantly. Brock grinned. “Oh, you wanna be on top, Babe?”

The Omega reached back and grabbed his Alpha’s ass. Brock’s eyes went wide. Ohhh. That wasn’t what he meant. “You ever do that before?” Steve asked.

“No,” Brock said. “But for you I would.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not? There are some guys in STRIKE who have. They say it actually feels pretty good.”

“It feels amazing!” Steve said. “Well. It’s a different thing entirely for me.”

Brock sat up and kissed the blond. “Do you want to?”

Steve considered. He’d never topped anyone before. He knew it required some work with beta men and Alphas, and he wasn’t sure he had that kind of patience at the moment. “Maybe another time?” He suggested. “That sounds fun, but not nearly as fun as having you in me.”

His Alpha nipped him. “I’m good with that.” He grabbed Steve by the hips, lifted him up, and lowered him back down directly onto his cock.

Steve let his head drop back and rolled his hips to help the penetration. His inner walls spasmed and he saw how much effort it was for Brock not to just thrust up. Such a sweet man. He never got it through his head that he couldn’t really hurt Steve. The Omega rolled his hips once more so that Brock bottomed out. His Alpha watched him hazily, a soft smile on his lips. Steve pulled his legs under his body, gripped his Alpha’s shoulders, pushed himself up, and slammed back down.

It ripped a shocked gasp from Brock, who wasn’t used to Steve riding him with so much force. Steve saw stars flash behind his eyes, so he did it again. And again. Pleasure shot up his spine as he fucked himself down onto his Alpha’s length. The gorgeous man underneath him just let him go, watching him from soft, hooded eyes.

Realizing he had complete control right now, Steve decided to take advantage. He gripped his lover by the jaw and kissed him forcefully. Their teeth clacked together, but he didn’t really care. He bit the Alpha’s bottom lip, and soothed his tongue over the mark. Then he parted the other man’s lips with his tongue and started fucking his mouth with it, matching the pace his set with his hips.

Brock tried to buck up into him, but Steve was stronger. He refused to be moved. The Alpha grabbed Steve’s hips to get some leverage, but he just laughed into his open, panting mouth. He was enjoying this. The Omega slid his hands down his Alpha’s torso, enjoying the feel of his muscles rippling under hand. He went along his forearms, and gripped his hands. Brock smiled adoringly. He must’ve been thinking that Steve wanted to hold hands while they fucked.

Steve got his grip on Brock’s hands and forced them back. Pulled his arms up, pushed his torso down, and had him pinned in a second, back arched lewdly. Holding himself up by his hands on Brock’s wrists, he started fucking down onto the other man at a punishing pace. For a moment he worried that the Alpha would protest. That he wouldn’t want to be pinned down by an Omega –it was supposed to be the other way around. But Brock relaxed into it. He dropped his head back and moaned as Steve repeatedly clenched his inner muscles around the Alpha’s fat dick.

The Omega bent forward and chased a bead of sweat up Brock’s neck with his tongue. He licked straight from clavicle to jaw, then nipped lightly over the bone. He nosed along to his Alpha’s ear and licked around the shell. “Nnngh, Baby, that feels so good.” Steve grinned and nipped at Brock’s earlobe.

Steve rolled his hips hard, grinding down into each movement. He was close. Oh he was so fucking close. He squeezed Brock’s wrists into one hand, then used the other to start jerking himself off.

“Oh shit,” Brock groaned. “Yes, Baby, come on. Harder. _Harder._ Come on.”

Steve panted into his Alpha’s neck. So close. So close! He could feel it coiling in his belly, balls drawing up tight. He couldn’t think, wouldn’t think, of anything other than slamming his hips down onto Brock’s dick, then fucking back up into his own hand.

He kissed back down Brock’s neck, and sweetly pressed a kiss to the scent gland where neck met shoulder. Brock shivered. Steve nosed into it, enjoying the potent smell. _His mating gland,_ Steve mused. Unlike Steve’s, Brock’s bore no tell-tale bite scars of having mated before. When they mated, Alphas would often bite their Omegas more than once over the period of a heat to ensure that the scars stuck. The acidic quality of the gland’s fluid did the rest.

When _they_ mated, Omegas typically savaged their Alpha’s mating gland, to ensure scarring. That way, no other Omegas would even try. Bucky’s had required five stitches.

Steve didn’t want to think about Bucky in that moment, when he was riding Brock with abandon and loving on his mating gland.

Brock twisted his wrists in Steve’s grip, and finally broke it. He didn’t try to take over, just held Steve’s hand in both of his. It reminded the Omega of their handholding on Brock’s couch when they first started hanging out.

He arched his back, and came with a drawn out moan, splattering Brock’s stomach and chest.

Then he sucked on the skin over his Alpha’s mating gland, laving it with his tongue and worrying it with his teeth. Brock came with a shout, hips driving up into Steve with almost enough force to buck him.

 

They’d laid there panting against each other for a moment, before Brock carefully rolled Steve off of him and cleaned them up with the towel he’d dried off with after his shower. “Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo,” He muttered over and over as he wrapped his Omega in downy blankets and tucked him into his side.

They didn’t speak anymore, once Brock’s muttering had quietly tapered off. Steve fell asleep like that, wrapped up in his Alpha’s heat and the softness of the blankets, with the other man kissing him on his head and his cheek and his neck, and over his own mating gland.

 

 

Steve knew, laying there on his kitchen floor, that Brock loved him. Without a doubt, Brock loved him. He was as sure of that as he was that Fury’s black coffee had diabetes-inducing levels of sugar in it. He was as sure of that as he was that Clint and Natasha were not lovers, regardless of what gossip said. He was as sure of that as he was that the sun would set that night and rise again in the morning, and it would continue to do so regardless of what was happening on earth.

If the sun hadn’t extinguished when Bucky died, it wouldn’t go out for anything.

Steve had come to the conclusion a while ago that Bucky wouldn’t want him to hold himself back from living. These were impossible times, and neither of them could have ever planned for this. But Bucky loved Steve like meat loves salt. He wanted Steve to be happy. He wouldn’t want him to mope on, to hold a candle for him from beyond the grave. It would tear him apart.

And in Brock, Steve had found someone who didn’t demand that he move on and not love his first Alpha anymore. Brock had said it before Steve ever had to –he would always love Bucky. And that was alright. Brock didn’t feel like he was competing with the memory of a dead man. Brock had said he was just happy that Steve had loved, and been loved, before.

And now Steve loved Brock. And Brock loved Steve. And Brock wanted to mate with Steve. And-

“Hello? Steve, Love, are you okay?”

“Come over, Brock. For the heat. I…I want to be your mate.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Brock mate. And house hunt!

Steve stretched out and wiggled his toes as Brock dried him off. His Alpha kissed the top of his foot before setting it back on the bed and tossing the towel into the hamper. “You good, Babe?”

“I will be when you get down here,” Steve said. Brock obliged happily. They snuggled up together on top of the covers. “Are _you_ good?”

“I’m perfect, Babe,” Brock mumbled into Steve’s hair.

“Yes you are.”

The Alpha laughed. “You’re adorable, mi amore.”

Steve chewed his lip. “Are you ready for this?” His fingers feathered through the other man’s dark hair. “Are you sure?”

Brock tilted his head to look his Omega in the eye. “I’ve never been so sure of anything, Steve. I want to be your mate. It’s going to be the best thing I’ve done in my life.” He kissed Steve gently. “Are you ready? You can change your mind.”

“I’ll never change my mind,” The Omega whispered. And he meant it. Heat or no heat, he meant it. He stroked his hand over his soon-to-be-mate’s fevered skin. This was the cozy calm between the frantic rounds of mating. When Brock had arrived at Steve’s apartment, they’d fucked for nearly three straight hours. Steve had nearly forgotten how different things were when heat and rut occurred at the same time. It left everything in a blur of hormones.

Brock had managed to hold back enough for them not to bond right then. When you could avoid doing it in the initial throes of mating, that was always safer. Bucky had once told Steve “You fuck a few times first and get all the desperation out of your system. Then, when you don’t have to worry about ripping each other’s throats out, then you bond.” Brock seemed to think along the same lines. Despite practically ripping Steve’s door off the hinges trying to get into his apartment, he had refrained from biting the begging Omega under him.

After a few hours of fucking and knotting, they had finally regained themselves enough to go relax in the tub. They had stayed long past when the water got cold –not that it was ever particularly hot to begin with- and just enjoyed each other and the soothing relief from the fire that was burning them both. Then snack, water, bed. Brock was a pragmatist about that sort of thing. He dried himself, and then Steve, off while the Omega ate.

And now they just lay curled together in bed. Between soft strokes and kisses and cuddles, they planned their future. Their not-too-distant future.

 

 

“Fuck. Fuck…Brock…Aaah!”

“You like that, Baby?” Brock sucked Steve’s cock back down his throat. His nose pressed right into the honey blond curls in front of him as he bottomed out. Steve yelped and thrust his hips up. This was…this was…was….fuck.

When Brock had sucked him off after his last heat, it had been intense. Now, during, he wasn’t entirely sure how to process it. It stoked the fire in his blood and did nothing to bring release. “Brock. Alpha,” He whined.

Brock pulled off with a lewd pop. “Yes, Omega?”

“Quit your teasin’ and fuck me. I’m going crazy.”

“Oh, you want me to fuck you? Well….If you insist.” Brock grabbed Steve and flipped him over quickly. He smoothed his hands up his partner’s creamy thighs and squeezed his pert ass. “So gorgeous.”

Steve scrambled up onto his knees to present himself to his Alpha. He still had his head enough for mischief, so he let himself flop down onto his shoulders, and reached back to spread himself for Brock’s gaze. “I’m ready, Alpha. I have been for ages. Knot me already!”

He could only imagine how Brock’s mouth was flapping open as he tried to speak. But he couldn’t speak, or just didn’t. He lined up his cock against Steve’s hole, and slid in with a forceful thrust. He dug his fingers into the meat, blunt nails leaving little crescents of red.

Steve loved it. It made him feel more in the moment. He pushed his hips back and ground into Brock’s pelvis. His Alpha chuckled behind him. “Eager, Omega?” The blond just leaned forward, then slammed his hips back as hard as he could.

Brock swore and slapped his ass. He tightened his grip on Steve’s hips, pulled back, and jerked the Omega backwards as he thrust forwards. Steve howled. Brock did it again. He set a brutal pace, his rut driving him on pure instinct. Fuck. Mate. Protect.

Steve let himself make all of the mewling, moaning, breathy noises that came naturally when his Alpha was drilling him. “Fuck,” he growled. Brock hit his cervix with a particularly hard thrust. “Fuck, Alpha!”

“Oh, Baby, I intend to,” Brock growled.

A hand closed around the back of his neck, the other dug in at his hip, and his Alpha pounded him with abandon. The rut hormones swirled around his head, relaxing him, making him more pliant. No matter how hard Brock went, the hormones would make sure he was too relaxed for it to hurt.

Steve screamed when he came. He splattered the sheets in front of him, completely untouched. A ripple went through his muscles. Everything clenched. His Alpha’s knot was sucked inside of his tight rim, tying them together in a timeless bond. Brock continued rocking into Steve, as much as he could, until finally his knot popped all the way and his own orgasm hit.

They lay together, panting in a heap. Brock finally turned them over onto their sides –the movement once again milking cum from him. He nibbled at Steve’s mating gland lovingly. “Soon,” He whispered.

“Not soon enough,” Steve replied.

 

It was the third day before they finally did it.

They came over the crest, and slowed down into a less frantic pace. There was less risk of violence. Brock kissed Steve tenderly. They were tied together facing each other for once. It made the Omega’s stomach flutter in anticipation. Slow and gentle hands caressed up and down his sides, coaxing him down from the high of orgasm. “Alpha,” He purred.

“Can I bite you, Omega?” Brock asked so sweetly. He peppered kisses over Steve’s forehead, his temples, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. “Can I mate you, Omega?”

Lips met lips and Steve stroked his fingers over Brock’s mating gland. “Bite me, Alpha. Please.”

One more kiss, so slow and warm, and Brock bent his head down to his Omega’s neck. Just a brush of lips at first, then a slight scrape of teeth. Warm, wet breath blew over his skin.  Then Brock bit down, teeth sinking through flesh and catching the meat underneath. It hurt, for a moment, before the gland ruptured and Steve’s entire body flooded with adrenaline and oxytocin.

Brock removed his teeth, and stretched up to look Steve in the eye with his mouth dripping blood. Steve just smiled, and ducked his own head. He sucked the skin for a moment before he ripped into his Alpha’s skin and muscle. Brock hissed in pain. Steve continued to rip. The hormone-laden fluid from his destroyed mating gland flooded Steve’s mouth. He moaned around it. It settled into him. Centered him. He gulped it down like he was dying for it.

Brock sank his teeth back into his Omega. _His_ Omega. Really and truly, now. Hips moved together. Steve saw stars behind his eyelids. Felt a warm flood and pulse as Brock came in him again as well. They were locked together. They would be for hours. And now they were bonded. _Drink of the blood, and two become one._

He dozed in his Alpha’s arms. Time passed, but how much or how little was irrelevant until it came time to fuck again. Until it came time to knot again. Until it came time to reopen the bonding bites and deepen the claiming scars.

 

 

 

There were wolf whistles and handshakes and claps on the back when Steve and Brock returned to work. Steve was surprised at how over the moon his former-fellow STRIKE commandos were. Someone brought out whiskey and they toasted at 8 am.

Then someone brought in doughnuts, and there were even more wolf whistles and handshakes and back claps and toasts. Natasha and Clint even made an appearance, as honorary members of STRIKE, and Steve’s current teammates. Maria Hill wandered down from the Bridge. Then Nick Fury showed up. It was all quiet for a moment, before he passed out cigars.

They smoked cigars in the offices of STRIKE, in the middle of the Triskelion, at 0900, to celebrate Steve and Brock mating.

 

Things did, eventually, die down. Not for Steve, not at all, but for the commandos who grew used to their idol being mated to their commander. Steve had to pack everything he owned into boxes (Brock and Natasha helped, and Clint “helped,” and they left behind almost everything that SHIELD had bought for Steve, so it wasn’t too awful) and move it into a storage unit or Brock’s place, depending on where it fit.

His lease was up, you see.

And he and Brock were buying a house.

No reason to re-up a lease when you’re buying a house.

They had it narrowed down. Their realtor, Kelly, was amazing. She was the wife of one of the STRIKE medics, and she specialized in helping STRIKE and SHIELD agents find homes when they couldn’t do much of the work themselves. She had immaculate taste.

“It needs a big yard!” Brock explained to her for the fiftieth time over the phone.

Steve was a city boy. He had never had a yard. It sounded exciting, until Clint explained how much work went into maintaining a yard of Brock-sized proportions.

“We’ll get a riding mower!” Brock explained to Steve, like any objections to his yard were an insult to his mother.

His mother was going to come down once they moved in, and christen the kitchen.

Steve and Brock were going to christen the kitchen too, but in a very different, and non-Mama-Rumlow-approved way. (“My mom was a wild child, but I think she’d die before doing that in a kitchen.”) Speaking of kitchens, they both agreed that it needed to be large. “We can knock down a wall and get rid of any formal dining rooms, if we decide to go with a fixer-upper,” Steve said. “Put down those nice acid stained concrete floors. Concrete counters. And a big butcher’s block island.” And if Brock gave him a blowjob for his kitchen plans, well, that was just the current giddy nature of their relationship.

They ended up deciding on only needing a two car garage. Brock had to park his baby inside, and Steve needed to park his motorcycle inside, but he still didn’t have a car. Didn’t need one. Didn’t plan to get one. Stark had offered him a first-off-the-line StarkMobile, but Steve had politely refused in terror. Brock was disappointed. He wanted a StarkMobile. The two of them were strangely good friends for men who had never met; a continual source of lighthearted jokes for Steve and Pepper in their emails.

 

Steve settled into Brock’s lap as they looked at houses on his laptop. They ended up in Arlington for most of their search.

“It’s got pillars…” Steve said.

“Yep!”

“And balconies. Do we need four balconies?”

“It would look awkward with only three.”

 

Brock’s phone pinged. **A tower?**

 **And only one balcony! At least, in the front.** He answered.

**Brock?**

**Yes, Darling?** Pierce was on his soap box. This meeting wasn’t going anywhere, and no one was going to notice that Steve and Brock were texting under the table.

**You’re insane. Take me inside.**

**Take you inside to see it, or _take you inside_?**

 

 

“It’s $3.3 million.” Steve gaped at the house on his computer.

Brock had popped over after his training with the new recruits. His Omega was elbow deep in paperwork, but their realtor had _just_ sent him this one! “That’s a steal in this neighborhood.”

“Do houses without balconies cost less?”

“Why are you so caught up on the balconies? Look at the kitchen!”

“It has a sauna. I do like the sauna,” Steve sighed.

“All the natural light in the master bedroom is to die for.”

“Yeah, until it’s 5:00 in the morning and the sun is right in your eyes.”

“Look at the nesting room, though,” Brock purred. “We would never have to leave during your heat.”

“It is really nice. And I do like the rooftop terrace. And the fully functional guest suite for when your mom visits.”

“Shall we ask for a showing?”

“Okay, but don’t get too excited. It’s still $3 million!”

 

 

“Three. Hundred. Thousand.” **KABOOM! “** Three hundred thousand in renovations, and that was the best they could do?” Brock shot the last target on the roof and hopped off his highground. “I could eat three hundred thousand and shit a better reno than that!”

“I agree. It makes your crazy balcony house look a lot nicer.” Steve tossed his shield and knocked a man solidly in the head.

Brock laughed over his shoulder. “I knew I’d get you on board with the balconies!”

 

 

“Okay, okay. Look at this one on Fillmore Street. It’s only $1.1 million. I bet we could get it for less than a million. The kitchen is already updated. It’s gorgeous.” Steve rolled over into Brock and pulled the covers off of his head. His Alpha grumbled, but took the tablet.

“It has two balconies on the front. That doesn’t bother you?”

“No, they actually make sense to this house. There’s a two car garage, and the driveway in front of the garage is covered.” He was already planning his route to work, the neighborhood bars, where they would shop….

“There is a lot of natural light,” Brock muttered. “And the nesting room is every bit as nice as the one in the $3 million house. I’ll call Kelly and set up a showing.”

 

The Fillmore House was big and blue and warm. A long stone staircase led up to an oak door and a bright open foyer. There were wooden floors throughout, and windows flooded it with light. Brock went agog over the kitchen. The cabinets were white, the marble was black, the steel was stainless.

The master suite was on the top floor. It _was_ the top floor. Kelly led them around with great enthusiasm. The bathroom had a steam shower and a whirlpool tub. And the nesting room? It was the most luxurious Steve had ever seen. When Kelly stepped out to take a call, Brock pressed his Omega back onto the platform. “Babe? I really like this house.”

“I do too,” Steve said. “You wanna….?”

Brock locked the door. “We’ve gotta be fast!”

“Hang on.” Steve fished his phone out.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Cynthia to call Kelly in ten minutes and keep her busy.”

“I love you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here are two of the houses: 
> 
> The $3.3mil House http://www.dcmodernhomes.com/listing/ar10047124-2015-arlington-ridge-rd-arlington-va-arlington-ridge/
> 
> The Fillmore House http://www.dcmodernhomes.com/listing/ar9870932-117-fillmore-st-arlington-va-holmes/
> 
> We have one more happy, nice chapter. Then bad, bad things.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve locked the door and dropped onto the hall bench to remove his boots. The Lemurian Star mission had taken a lot out of him. Everything Fury had told him about Project Insight was rattling around in his head. He really just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a month, but he still had to go back to his old apartment and finish clearing out the last of the boxes….

Bare feet padding across the floor drew his head up. He smiled at his Alpha. Brock’s returned smile looked manic. “On va voir?” The brunet growled.

Oh. Right. That. Yeah, Steve knew he was in trouble. But judging from the frightened- _aroused_ -protective smell pouring off of his mate, it was a good kind of trouble. Steve went sheepish, and surrendered himself to his Alpha’s nature.

Brock manhandled him up the stairs. They left a trail of clothes all the way to their nest. Calloused hands caressed Steve’s skin, before resting on his chest and bodily shoving him down onto the mattress. Steve pulled himself back towards the middle of the bed. “Brock, I’m-“

“On. Va. Voir.” His Alpha hissed. “Batroc was one of the most lethal mercenaries in the world and _you put your shield away_. You don’t carry a gun.” Brock crawled over top of his Omega. He stayed on his hands and knees, not touching, just looming. “You put your only weapon away. What the hell were you thinking, Steve?”

Steve reached up to touch his mate, only to have his arm pinned above his head. “I don’t know,” He replied.

“Not good enough,” Brock snapped.

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Steve struggled against the hand holding him. He broke free, and flipped Brock onto his back. “I beat him. I was confident that I would. I didn’t need the shield to do it. I don’t know what more you want.”

“I want you to think,” There was true desperation in his Alpha’s eyes. “I want you to think before you do stupid shit like that. I want you to think before you take needless risks. What the fuck would you say to me if I pulled some shit like that?”

Steve hesitated. “I’d… I would tell you that you were being an idiot. And that you weren’t allowed to do that to me.”

“Exactly,” The Alpha grumbled. “Same thing, Steve. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to risk yourself like that anymore. I need you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Brock.” Steve let his Alpha up. They sat facing each other on the bed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I won’t do something like that again. I don’t want to make you worry.”

“That’s all I ask, mi amore.” Brock pulled Steve close and kissed him. It was an outpouring of every ounce of frustration and fear and anxiety that had been clawing at Brock since they lifted off in DC. He wound a hand into his Omega’s hair and held his hip with the other. Steve pressed into the kiss. He crawled overtop of his Alpha and laid fully over him.

They slid together, fit together like they always did. Brock slotted a thigh between Steve’s, giving his Omega something to grind against. They kissed like it was the end of the fucking world. Steve slipped his tongue into his Alpha’s mouth. Brock sucked it in a pantomime of a blow job.

Steve rolled his hips steadily. Their bodies surged together with the motion of it. Pheromones clouded the air and amped up their energy. Brock reached around Steve’s back and stroked his calloused fingers down into his cleft. He was met with hot slick and he followed it up into his Omega’s tight, pulsing cunt. “Mmm, Brock,” Steve moaned.

“What do you want, Baby?”

“Anything,” He answered. “I want anything you’ll give me, Brock.”

Brock chuckled. “That isn’t an answer, Baby.”

Steve kissed his mate’s neck. Kissed down to the vicious scarring he’d left over Brock’s mating gland. It was still red and raised after only five months. He kissed it. Sucked the skin. Laved his tongue over it. Brock moaned and curled his fingers into his mate’s G-spot viciously. “Alpha!”

“Tell me what you want, Steve. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“Fuck,” The Omega hissed out on a breath. “Suck me, Alpha. And use your fingers.”

“You want me to suck your dick and finger-fuck your pussy, Omega?” Brock pulled his fingers out of Steve’s wet heat and rolled him onto the bed. He peppered kisses across his Omega’s torso, trailing down, so that he could swallow his erection down to the golden curls at the base.

Steve bucked up and grabbed Brock’s hair. He moaned long and loud as his mate bobbed up and down his length, licking his tongue over the slit every time he pulled up. One thick finger pressed back into his pussy on a down stroke, and a second came as he pulled back up.

Brock paused there and grinned mischievously at the blond under him. He flicked rapid kitten licks over the head, pulling more moans from his partner. He let the moisture build up in his mouth, then slowly drooled it out onto the already dripping dick in front of him to ease his way. When he felt the saliva drip onto his own fingers, he plunged three right into Steve’s core, and dropped back down his mate’s dick to deepthroat him.

Steve yelped and surged up again. He probably ripped a few hairs out of Brock’s head. Three thick fingers curled viciously into his G-spot, then straightened out and pushed deeper to hit his prostate. Brock sucked hard as he bobbed up and down his Omega’s length again faster and faster. It took no time. Steve shouted “Fuck, Alpha!” He came right down his Alpha’s throat and gushed onto his hand.

Brock pulled off with one final suck. Steve was boneless, but he tugged his mate up for a kiss. They met with closed lips. It was almost chaste. Steve should have realized that was a trap. His Alpha’s tongue pressed lightly at the seam of his lips. He opened of course, and before he knew it, Brock was feeding him his own come back into his mouth. He was surprised at first but as he and Brock swapped it back and forth sloppily as they kissed, tongues fucking and exploring, teeth clashing and nipping, he got more and more into it. It was hot. This was how much Brock wanted him. That idea was intoxicating.

The Alpha swallowed down the come in his mouth and licked the rest off of Steve’s face. “Let me knot you, Omega,” He begged. “Let me tie us together.”

“Yes,” Steve breathed. “Knot me, Alpha.” He crawled out from under his mate and flipped over. He lowered his shoulders and raised his ass to present himself to his Alpha. The man behind him groaned.

“So perfect, mi amore. So sweet.” It took nothing for Brock to push in until his pelvis was flush with Steve’s perfectly round ass. His hands kneaded the flesh as he let his Omega get situated. As soon as Steve pushed back, Brock started pounding into him with the force of his desperation. The wet slaps echoed in their bedroom, punctuated with obscene moans, and heady gasps. And over all of that, Brock’s breathless chant, “Mi amore, mi amore, mi amore.”

Steve felt his second orgasm wash over him with the warmth of dropping into a bath. It centered him, but let him relax. Brock’s knot was swelling up and catching his rim. His Alpha knew better than to pull back and come without it inside. The final pop stretched him open, and another warm wetness flooded his body.

Brock held him to his chest, wrapped around the larger man and snuggled in for keeps. Right now, letting go would be unbearable. Steve could feel the soothing sensation across their bond, easing the worry and fear and anger at possibly being separated. It hadn’t happened. They were together. It was fine. This was everything Steve wanted. This was perfect.

 

 

 

_Don’t trust anyone._

 

_I only act like I know everything, Rogers._

 

_Someone killed my friend. I intend to find out who._

 

_I just want you to know, Cap, this isn’t personal._

 

_We won, Captain._

 

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

 

_Start digging._

 

_No, I don’t!_

 

_You are my mission!_

 

_This isn’t personal. You are my mission! This isn’t personal. You are my mission! This isn’t personal. You are my mission! This isn’t personal. You are my mission! This isn’t personal. This isn’t personal. This isn’t personal. This isn’t personal. This isn’t personal. This isn’t-_

“Steve!”

 

Steve shot up in bed. He was drenched in sweat. Shaking. Coming back from a bad dream. That’s right. A dream. But he looked around and realized he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t in his almost-mansion in Alexandria. He was in a guestroom at Stark Tower in New York City. It wasn’t a dream.

Stark was watching him worriedly. “Is something wrong,” he asked the brunet.

“You were yelling in your sleep. Jarvis thought someone should check up on you.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. He felt like he had been hit by a truck. Or beaten senseless by a super assassin, shot multiple times, then dropped 300 feet into a dirty river while a helicarrier came down on him. He would have preferred the truck. “It was just a bad dream, Stark.”

“You’ve been having a lot of those.” Stark stroked his ridiculous beard thoughtfully. “Maybe you should talk to someone? It worked for me.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh. “Turned out my last therapist was Hydra, so I’m gonna sit this one out.”

Stark nodded glumly. “Right. Kinda figures. Want me to call your friend Sam? He’s pretty good at what he does.”

“I don’t want to bother him,” Steve whispered.

“You aren’t bothering anyone, Steve. Except for Jarvis. You keep waking Jarvis up. But the rest of us know you have been through a whole hell of a lot this past month. No one holds it against you.” The other Omega walked over and perched on the edge of Steve’s bed. “You can talk to me if you want. I’m great at fucked up stuff!”

The blond eyed him for a minute, then deadpanned, “My Alpha was running an elaborate ‘honeypot’ scheme to lull me into a false sense of security so that he could betray me to my mortal enemies, that I would either join them or die, while he kept my former Alpha hostage and turned him into a political assassin, then sent him to kill me when he, my current Alpha, couldn’t get the job done. Now I have no idea where either of them are, and I don’t know what to do. I also destroyed one of the biggest intelligence organizations in the world, created by Peggy Carter herself, ruining her life’s work, because it had been infiltrated by our enemies. Can you help me with that, Stark?”

Tony, for his part, did not immediately come back with a snarky quip. Pepper must have told him to be nice. He took a deep breath, then looked Steve square in the eye. “Yes.”

“Wait, what?” Steve gaped.

“Yes, I can help you,” Stark elaborated unhelpfully. “Can and, in fact, will.”

“How?”

“First of all, I can be here for you emotionally. Or Pepper can, maybe. She’s good at that. I can find you a good shrink to talk to. And I can help you find, and possibly fight, both of your wayward Alphas. Because you do have to find both of them, Steve.”

“I know,” The blond sighed. “I know I do.”

“Alright, so where do we start?”

“You know what, Stark?”

“What?”

“You really are a good friend when you want to be.”

“Thanks! I think.”

 

 

Steve started in a giant, empty house. His boots were still next to the bench in the foyer. The Lemurian Star seemed like years ago. Boxes were still stacked around the house, a few in every room, and they hadn’t even finished painting yet. Steve followed the fading smell of his mate up the stairs to their bedroom. He doubted that Brock had left anything important in there, but he still had to look. Even the smallest thing could end up leading them to Hydra and his two Alphas.

He rifled through every drawer, checked the storage benches, even unfolded all of the sheets in the linen closet. Nothing. He took a solid 45 minutes checking for secret pockets in Brock’s clothes, but he found nothing in them. He left everything strewn where he dropped it. The mess hardly mattered now.

The entrance to the attic was through a small door at the back of the walk-in closet. That was where Brock kept most of his guns. Steve went through all of the gun lockers, and, aside from the fact that there were a few more guns missing than usual, and Steve was sure that was because of Insight, he came up with nothing. He was about to call it a day when he noticed a tarp in the corner where the light didn’t really fall.

A footlocker from Brock’s Army days sat under it, locked, but Steve recognized the lock. The key was on the same ring as the ones for the gun safes.

Steve had not expected to end his day crying on the attic floor, surrounded by what was basically Brock’s entire life since he joined the Army. His first orders were in there, along with his DD-214. Medals and commendations. Letters from deployments. His dog tags. A STRIKE patch that had been cut off of a jacket. Tickets from football and baseball games. Letters from Steve. Pictures of Steve. Little trinkets Steve had picked up on his travels.

A black velvet box with two platinum bands.

A newborn onesie with a cartoonish rendition of the shield, and the bubbly words “My Daddy is a Superhero!”

 

That was how Natasha found him a few hours later. He was cried out and exhausted and feeling like burning the house down. Maybe staying in it when he did.

Natasha looked at him with an indecipherable expression. At least it wasn’t pity or condemnation. Steve found himself bubbling with hysterical laughter when she picked up the onesie. When she arched an eye brow at him, he choked out “How fucking far was he planning to take this?” He threw her the ring box.

She didn’t bother opening it. “Don’t go down that road, Steve.”

“A little late for that, Nat.”

“I could kill Stark for letting you come here alone.”

“I needed to do this alone.”

Natasha huffed out a heavy sigh. “One day, you’re going to learn that that isn’t true.”

They settled in the kitchen. Natasha had opened the fridge, let out a dramatic mock-scream, and slammed it back. Steve didn’t want to think about the spoiled food. So, he made coffee instead.

“The committee made their ruling about the STRIKE widows today,” Natasha said conversationally. “They’ll all get their husbands’ pensions. Including you.”

“I don’t want it,” Steve barked.

“I figured you wouldn’t.”

“Brock’s mom can have it. She’ll need something to live on when she gets older.”

“Tell that to Pepper, and she’ll make it happen. I love that woman.”

“Don’t we all?” Steve mused. “How she ended up with Tony, I’ll never know.”

“That’s her secret, Cap,” Natasha purred. “She thrives on chaos. And Tony Stark is chaos personified.”

They lapsed into silence while they sipped their coffee. Steve didn’t want to break it. He had hoped to spend the day alone, so at least he could almost pretend if they were quiet. The silence extended while he washed their cups and put them away. Nat disappeared while he worked, so he just dropped onto the hall bench to wait for her.

It only took her 10 minutes. “Secret compartment in that footlocker,” She said by way of explanation.

Steve hadn’t even thought to check. He had been distracted. “Did you find anything?”

She raised a manila folder with Cyrillic writing embossed on the cover. “Just a file on the Winter Solider.”

Steve didn’t mean to snatch it out of her hand. He really didn’t. Nat seemed to understand.

He couldn’t read a word of it, but he could look at the pictures. Right on the inside of the cover was a picture of Bucky in some horrible tank. A small picture of him from 1944, in his dress uniform, was paperclipped to it. There were more. Several detailed his metal arm. Several detailed the torture he had endured. Natasha took the file from his hands and closed it. “We’ll go back over this at the Tower, when I can translate it all for you.”

She drove him back to the small, private airport where one of Stark’s planes had dropped him off that morning. As they flew back to New York, she leaned over and said “You know what’s interesting? The security protocols on this file are eyes-only. It isn’t allowed to be removed from Hydra command. If they had ever caught Brock with this, he would have been killed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say in my own defense, is that I was originally going to leave the first part of this chapter as the end of the last chapter. Can you imagine how much you would hate me if THAT was the cliffhanger you had been left with for seven months? Also, sorry about the seven months thing. What can I say, I have chronic depression?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you read chapter 13??? Chapter 13 was published 04/21/18. Chapter 14 was published 04/22/18. Make sure you read 13!

 “Wow. Just….Wow. I need a drink. Anyone else need a drink? Natasha? Brucie? I know it won’t do you any good, Steve, but bourbon is good just for the taste.” Tony started rummaging in his wet bar.

“Don’t let him lie to you, Steve,” Natasha sighed. “Bourbon isn’t that great.”

“Says the girl who drinks Russian rocket fuel.” Tony popped his head back up. “Woman. Sorry, Natasha. ‘Says the WOMAN who drinks Russian rocket fuel.’ I’m working on it.”

“You’re doing much better, Tony,” Nat conceded.

“Can we focus, please?” Steve barked.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “Let’s focus on 70 years of murder and torture and brainwashing. What part would you like to focus on first? I say we look into him killing JFK. That seems like a good place to start. If we put the conspiracy theorists onto that, we’ll have the Robo-Russian in a week.”

 Natasha snorted. “Oh please. Did you forget that this is the man who trained me? It would hardly be that easy.”

Natasha had told Steve about her time in the Red Room. About Bucky training her, as a soviet master assassin. She just knew him as Alexi. They had been “involved” with each other. (Natasha code, Steve suspected, for “loved each other.”) They had tried to escape together. Alexi had lied to the other Red Room trainers, and claimed under torture that he had kidnapped her. It had saved her life. She never saw him again, at least until he attacked her on the bridge. She had only known he was still alive because he had shot her on a mission. And she had never known that he had once been James Buchannan Barnes.

It was a complicated web.

Bucky had been Steve’s Alpha.

For a while, they had talked about making a life with Peggy after the war.

Peggy had fought against the Red Room.

Bucky, as Alexi, had trained Natasha in the Red Room.

Alexi and Natasha had been lovers.

Brock had become the Winter Soldier’s handler a decade ago.

Brock and Natasha had been “fuck buddies” for a while.

Natasha was one of Steve’s closest friends.

Brock was also Steve’s Alpha.

Tony joked that Steve had slept with Natasha by proxy.

Pepper had thrown her shoe at Tony.

Pepper did not miss.

Or so it was written in Sam’s green spiral-bound notebook, where he kept a detailed record of what they untangled from Natasha’s file dump.

 

With the Winter Soldier file in their possession, they had been able to fill in some of the gaps of how Hydra had managed to shape history in their favor after Steve went in the ice. It was a hard read. When they had first tried to go over it as a team, Tony had left and holed himself up in his workshop for three days. Bruce had turned a shade greener than anyone would have liked, and excused himself altogether. Even Natasha had gone pale. Sam, bless him, had put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and asked if he should read it instead, and only give Steve the cliffnotes version. Steve had declined. He had to know what had happened to Bucky.

Now they were trying again. Bruce was still absent, which might have been a good thing. Tony had his head pillowed in Pepper’s lap when he wasn’t up getting more alcohol. Sam was in full therapist mode. And Nat and Steve were soldiering up. They were the only ones who actually knew Bucky. It was personal for them.

They were also the only ones who knew Brock. So, doubly personal.

Going through seven decades of abuse and torture wasn’t easy for anyone. Tony kept having to stop them so that he could catch his breath. Steve wasn’t nearly as stoic as he tried to be, but everyone was nice enough not to mention it when his tears flowed over onto his cheeks. They muddled through.

It was two in the morning before Pepper finally said enough. Tony was glassy-eyed in her lap. The room smelled of distress. “This isn’t helping,” She said. “Jarvis, how many CCTVs do you have access to?”

“How many are there, Ms. Potts?” The AI asked.

“That’s what I like to hear. Upload all known pictures of James Buchannan Barnes and the Winter Soldier, and monitor for anyone who meets at least an 85% match. That’s where we’ll start.”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.”

“Is there anything else, Steve?”

Steve had a hard time pulling his eyes away from the file. “Monitor for anything above 60% for Brock Rumlow as well.”

“That’s too much of a difference,” Tony said.

“Sam said he was caught in the Triskelion as it went down, and the only photo we have that might be Brock after the fall shows significant scarring,” Nat interjected. “Anything over 60 won’t give us shit.”

Tony grumbled, but Pepper put her hand over his mouth. “Jarvis can do it. No worries. Now, I think we all need to head for bed.”

No one moved.

Sam was the first person to address the elephant in the room. “We’re all so comfortable in here, no sense in uprooting everyone….”

There was a collective sigh of relief. The Avengers functioned as a pseudo-Pack. After everything they had seen in the file, they were much too disturbed to sleep apart. They pulled pillows and blankets from the hall closets and settled into the couches. For tonight, they would stay together.

 

 

 

“Cap, you see that? Your ten o’clock.”

“Suspect spotted. Nat?”

“I’ve got a lock. Who’s moving first?”

“I’ve got him. He’s dangerous. Don’t underestimate him.”

Rollins was a dangerous SOB. At least, they were pretty sure it was Rollins. There was something fitting about him skittering off to Argentina to hide, like the nazi rat he was. Wherever Rollins was, Rumlow probably wasn’t far away. They were a package deal.

And Steve was scared. He could admit it. He was so, so ready for all of this to be over, to have Bucky back, and to start working towards recovery. But he didn’t want to see Brock again. He couldn’t face him. He couldn’t face that he had fallen for the man’s trap, and given himself up so easily. But this would be how he found Bucky, and he would lock himself in a room with Brock for months if it meant getting his real Alpha back.

They had been watching this hotel for weeks, and Rollins wasn’t getting any sloppier. It was time to act. Tony routed a call up to the room through the hotel’s main line, and had Jarvis play a foreign language program explaining that they had run out of clean towels during maid service. Rollins granted them permission to bring some up. A former SHIELD plant in the area –vetted by Maria Hill- had agreed to take up the towels. Sewn into the folds was a very small time-release nerve gas. Give it five minutes, then Tony would short out the lock on the door, and bing-bang-boom, they would have an unconscious Rollins they could drag out for interrogation.

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Ninety seconds after the door closed on the fresh towels, the window shattered and the nerve gas was tossed out. Rollins followed seconds later with his gun out. Steve dropped from the roof onto the man’s shoulders, and wrestled him for possession of the gun. It took far longer than it should have. Too long. A crowd was forming. Cell phones were up, undoubtedly recording as Captain America beat up some guy in front of his hotel room.

Finally, Natasha appeared and was able to get a clean shot. She stabbed Rollins in the neck with a tranquilizer that was every bit as fast acting as Bruce had claimed it would be. Rollins slumped, and they dragged him down to the Stark Industries fake unmarked police SUV.

The footage would be online in a matter of seconds, assuming that none of those videos had been live, and it wasn’t already there. They had lost the element of surprise. Brock knew they were coming.

 

To say Rollins was uncooperative was an understatement. He yelled and cussed and fought, and almost tried to bite Tony through the Iron Man armor before he thought better of it. They used some of the more “humane” interrogation techniques to make him crack. Bright lights all the time. Varied sleep and meal schedules. Blasting the cell too hot, then too cold. A constant, annoying buzzing noise to make it harder to sleep. But Rollins had been trained to withstand worse than that.

A week went by. Then two. Then three. Whatever hope Steve had harbored that Brock would come to rescue his lieutenant faded. He really should have known better.

“We all need a break,” Tony said that night over dinner. “We aren’t getting anywhere. We need to approach this with a fresh mind.”

“Unless we use the kind of interrogation techniques that none of you are okay with, we aren’t going to get anything out of Rollins,” Natasha said. “Taking a break won’t help with that.”

No one questioned why Natasha was comfortable with those techniques. They had made their peace with her malleable morals a long time ago.

“That isn’t what I mean,” Tony explained. “I don’t think the Greasy Slime Bag angle is going to get us anywhere. Let’s ditch Seth Rollins in there and work on a new way of finding Cap’s missing mates.”

Steve sighed. “If we had any other ideas, we wouldn’t have bothered with Rollins to begin with.”

“Additional problem,” Sam interjected. “What do we do with him after this? I don’t think any of us really gave that proper consideration. Technically we’ve been harboring a fugitive for almost a month.”

“Don’t worry about that, Birdie.” Tony stabbed his chicken with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. “That’s what I hired Maria Hill for. That woman is a godsend. If I weren’t already heart and soul for Pepper, I would be buying her flowers.”

“What do you recommend we move to for Plan B?” Steve asked.

“We’re going to bait a trap and see who comes sniffing around.”

“No way would Rumlow be stupid enough to try to get to Steve here,” Natasha said.

“Probably not, no,” Tony agreed. “Too bad, I love stupid enemies. Not here. We have intel about where to find Hydra bases. Maybe it’s time that we start clearing them out. We’re bound to run into someone interesting eventually.”

“That…” Steve shook his head. “You know, that actually isn’t the worst idea. Brock is going to come for me eventually. I think he’s banking on me hesitating. Hydra will have him do it because of that. He has an advantage. If we follow the data that Nat released, we’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

Sam’s face was a little pinched. “Okay, that’s fine, but what if Bucky isn’t with Hydra anymore? Steve, you said that he was acting irrationally. He might not have gone back to them. With his training, they might not have captured him. Do we really want to try to hunt down Rumlow if he doesn’t even know where Bucky is?”

“I’ll have to face him eventually, Sam,” Steve half-whispered. “He’s my Alpha. He’s my problem. I’m going to stop him before he can destroy any more lives.”

 

 

Hunting down Hydra nests was at least something familiar to Steve. It pulled him back to the war, to the Howlies, to everything being simple. He didn’t like bullies, and Hydra was the biggest bully of all. They had forgotten, after Steve went into the ice, that they weren’t the only ones at the top of the food chain. He was going to remind them. And if it hurt, so much the better.

The first base they cracked was in Arizona. It was a weapons testing facility that used the cover of the desert to stay under the radar. It was also abandoned. Chairs were tipped over, computers smashed, files shredded. Everything of value had been removed. It would’ve been a dead end, had they not managed to grab Hawkeye for the raid. As they swept through, he saw a little paper scrap that everyone else missed, wedged into a door.

“Ohio? Who the hell hides a secret base in Ohio?” He asked.

 

The secret base in Ohio apparently hadn’t gotten the same evacuation orders as the one in Arizona. Steve’s shield ricocheted off a support beam and whacked a security guard solidly in the head. Tony took two more out with repulsors. Natasha had disappeared fifteen minutes ago, so god only knew what she was getting up to. Steve hoped it was something good.

Good for them. Bad for Hydra.

Two doctors were trying to drive their car through the crowded tunnel, but weren’t quite willing to run over the guards and come face to face with the Avengers. One leaned out the window with a pistol, only to have it knocked out of her hand by an expertly placed arrow. Another punctured the passenger side tire, then the driver side.

Steve pushed through the throng of panicking guards, delivering punches and picks and hits with his shield. He hadn’t felt this alive in ages. Was that terrible? It was. He knew it was. He didn’t want to kill anyone; he never had. But he was a soldier, and fighting for the cause lit him up from the inside, giving him an almost manic energy. He had failed to take Hydra down once. He wouldn’t fail again.

He left the doctors to Tony, and went to go find Natasha. Scattered, frightened, unarmed personnel were running around with no rhyme or reason, just trying to escape the chaos. To a man, they saw Steve and reversed course. He let them go. One or two guards crossed his path, and he took them out with ruthless efficiency. No one was getting in his way now.

Natasha had a man pinned to the ground with her legs, a knife pressed to his cheek, just under his eye. The threat was clear. The knife disappeared up her sleeve as soon as she saw Steve, and he couldn’t help but be grateful. Another sin for him to confess. He was fine using the products of Natasha’s dark works, as long as he didn’t have to see how she got them.

“Captain. This charming young man was just about to tell me about a man with a metal arm coming through here. Weren’t you, dear?”

The man’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. “It was over a month ago. N-not long after the fall of the Triskelion. The Asset came back here. He said he was on a mission. He was looking for something. A book. He asked where the “Commander” was, but none of us knew who he was talking about. That isn’t a title Hydra uses. He asked where “Summer” was, but none of us knew her either. A tech tried to detain him, but he killed the tech. Killed six guards on the way out too.”

“Where was he going?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know.”

Natasha tightened her grip.

“I don’t know, I swear! He kept switching back and forth between English and Russian. I don’t speak Russian. I took two years of Spanish in high school and failed it! I would assume he was out looking for the Commander and Summer.”

“What about the book?” Natasha asked.

“He didn’t find it. He took a go bag with him, but that was it. He didn’t find the book If it was that important, it was probably at the Hub. HQ, you know? Not here. We don’t have anything to do with the Asset here. I didn’t even know who he was until one of the senior doctors explained. Told us to keep our mouths shut.”

“If you don’t have anything to do with the Asset,” Steve said, “Then what do you do here?”

“We’re a medical research facility. We’re trying to stop and reverse brain deterioration. I-I came here because my grandpa died of Alzheimer’s, and I wanted to work on a cure.” The man looked very young, all of a sudden. Steve sighed and gestured for Natasha to get up.

“Look here, this is not a legitimate facility. Everyone here is working for Hydra. You know who they are? They’re nazi scientists,” Steve said.

The man rubbed his throat, but shook his head. “Not anymore. Maybe they used to be, but not anymore. I’m not a nazi. I’m gay! How can you be a nazi and be gay? We’re just scientists, and they fund us. That’s it.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Nat grabbed his arm. “Not now, Captain. We need to get back to the others.” She turned back to the man. “Thank you for your assistance. It is very important that we find the man you told us about, the Asset, as soon as possible. We need to find him before he kills anyone else, or hurts himself. We aren’t the only ones looking for him, though. Some people are looking for him to have him kill more people.”

“I won’t tell anyone else what I told you,” The man said. “I don’t have anything to do with any of the weapons development or private security. I don’t want to, either. I just want to work on curing Alzheimer’s.”

Natasha nodded once, and dragged Steve out of the room. “This is bad.”

“Obviously, yes,” Steve agreed. “But what specifically?”

“Bucky looking for the Commander.” Steve stared at her blankly. “As that oh-so-helpful scientist said, Commander isn’t a Hydra title.”

“No, they’ve never used it.”

“Steve, it’s a STRIKE title. Bucky is looking for Rumlow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapters 14 and 15 are going to be kind of like the montage of Captain America and the Howling Commandos from The First Avenger. I'm being a little experimental. I hope you like it!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT INFINITY WAR *dies* That movie was not what I was expecting. I am devastated, and I will need at least until the next one to even recover.  
> There will be NO Infinity War spoilers in my story! This is completely canon non-compliant, so there's no reason for any of it.

“Do you love him?”

Rollins hadn’t spoken a word that Steve would say in front of his grandmother in a month. He and Tony had been in the interrogation room for four hours and had been greeted by nothing but stony silence. There had been two sharp raps on the window, and Tony had gone out to chat. Then, and only then, did Rollins speak.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Do you love him?” Rollins repeated.

“Who, Tony? Tony…he’s like a brother.” Steve shook his head. What a weird question.

Rollins rolled his beady little eyes. “Not Stark, ya’ dunce. Rumlow. Brock Alexander Rumlow. Your Alpha. Do you love Brock Rumlow?”

Steve hesitated. What the hell? What a fucking question. “I did.” Bile rose in his throat. “You know I did.”

“I’m not asking about ‘did’ Rogers. I’m talking present-tense. Do you love him?”

That was harder to answer. “I don’t know,” He said honestly.

Rollins, surprisingly, nodded. “I figured as much. It means things, that you didn’t just say no. I wouldn’t’ve believed you if you did.”

“Why not?” Steve growled.

“Love don’t die. Ever. It doesn’t matter what they do. Love never goes away.” Rollins said it with such conviction. Steve was honestly taken aback. The brunet cracked his neck, then continued. “I bet you’d give anything to go back in time and change all this. Or to rationalize it. Fix it. Find some way to justify what he did.”

“I’d give anything to be able to justify what all of you did. But there’s no justification for that.”

Rollins huffed. “So noble. He loved that about you. They ordered him to kill you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve grumbled. “I was there.”

Rollins shook his head. “He refused. Said it wasn’t possible. Said he couldn’t. Pierce had him tortured for refusing. Did you know that?”

That….didn’t mesh with Steve’s world view. “He almost did kill me. Natasha and Sam too.”

Rollins shook his head again. “You honestly think we didn’t know that Maria Hill was in that van? A little birdie very intentionally told her where to be. That not enough for you,” He asked when Steve looked skeptical. “He’s the one who called the fucking press, so that he would have a justification for not just shooting you on sight. Pierce ordered me to put two in the back of his head as soon as Insight launched, for that stunt.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve hissed.

“Just making conversation.”

They lapsed into silence. It wasn’t until three more knocks hit the door that Rollins changed tracks. “You ever meet old Eleanor Mott?”

“The woman who founded STRIKE?” Steve was confused.

“The very same. We’re all pretty fond of her,” Rollins explained. “You know how STRIKE got started?” Steve shook his head. “She was a war widow. Her Alpha enlisted as soon as the US entered the war. She was a very proud soldier’s wife, and a nurse. She went overseas too. She was in Normandy. Anyway, her Alpha got killed towards the end of the war. She absolutely lost it.

“She got wind of a tip that intelligence wasn’t going to follow up on, that some high ranking SS officers were going to be having a meeting. There would be loads of security, so it wasn’t considered worth it. Mrs. Mott took great offense to that. She stole the information and some guns, and she travelled all the way to Trier where the meeting was being held. She killed four SS officers. The best part was, she had found a wedding dress and veil along the way. She dyed them black, and that’s what she was wearing when she did it. Reports claimed that the four had been killed by a vengeful ghost.”

“That’s one hell of a story,” Steve whispered.

“And every damn word of it’s true, according to Phil Coulson,” Rollins said. “Commander Mott didn’t stop there. She hunted Nazis through the end of the war. Then, after the Nuremburg Trials, she hunted the ones who escaped. Eleanor Mott and the War Widows. That’s what people called them. A vilified, post-war Captain America and the Howling Commandoes, if you ask me. They took down dozens of escaped Nazis. The problem is, they were completely unsanctioned, so technically it was murder.

“When they got arrested, the US government had two options. They could either admit that a rogue, vigilante Omega was more competent and capable than all of the CIA and SSR agents tasked with hunting down Nazis, and let her be tried for murder, or they could claim that she was one of their agents, and retroactively claim credit for all of her work. Guess which they did?

“Eleanor Mott was the only War Widow to accept the deal to stay on with the SSR; the others all chose to retire. Her one condition was that she not be under the SSR’s direct supervision. She was given her own unit, and she created what would become STRIKE. Eventually, when Pierce took over SHIELD, and Eleanor had long since retired, STRIKE was absorbed into SHIELD.”

“Look, Rollins, this isn’t story time,” Steve interrupted. “I get it. All of you have some kind of obsession with Eleanor Mott. Great. But there is no reason to be telling me all this.” Steve pushed away from the table and headed to the door.

“Just thought you might be interested in the woman who recruited Rumlow to SHIELD. She’s a good person to talk to.”

Steve paused with the door halfway open. “I bet she was. Unfortunately, I can’t talk to her. She died less than a week after the fall of the Triskelion. Something about not being able to take the stress of her life’s work being destroyed by the very men she hunted down.”

As Steve closed the door on his way out, he could have sworn Rollins mumbled “Oh, well fuck.”

 

 

 

Steve gathered Maria, Natasha, and Clint to relay what Rollins had said. The three of them exchanged a very significant look.

“Eleanor Mott was a strange woman,” Maria began. “People say she went crazy when her Alpha died. She turned almost feral.”

“That’s not an unusual reaction,” Steve mumbled.

“No, not at all,” Maria agreed. “Anyway. Even after she technically retired, she kept on working. She would disappear for months at a time, and come back with some new information, or a new recruit, or with a captured enemy agent. She never entirely accepted anyone but Peggy Carter as the Director of SHIELD. A lot of people think she was still shadow-managing things with Director Carter until she went into hospice.”

“Why does any of that matter? Why did Rollins bother telling me about it?” Steve growled.

“Because Eleanor Mott recruited him, and Rumlow, and half of the STRIKE agents who ended up being Hydra at the end,” Maria said.

“So, what? Is he saying that she was Hydra too?”

“No way in hell,” Clint growled. “You never met her, Steve, but that’s more unbelievable than saying _you’re_ Hydra. She hated them. They took everything from her.”

“What then?”

“He’s just trying to throw us off,” Maria ruled. “He’s trying to confuse us.”

“I’m not so sure,” Natasha cut in. All eyes turned to her. “Mott didn’t recruit most of the STRIKE operatives that we now know to be traitors. Of all of the ones we know of, she only recruited five personally. Two, we know are dead. One, Hinston, we don’t know about. Rollins and Rumlow are the other two. Rollins she got out of the Navy. He was a SEAL. Rumlow she pulled out of prison, and sent into the Army.”

“Wait, why was he in prison?” Steve asked.

“Gang activity,” Maria explained. “The Lower East Side was a rough place, Steve. His family was incredibly poor. He got roped into a gang, and ended up getting arrested. Mott offered him a second chance, and he took it.”

Steve frowned. How did Maria, Natasha, and Clint know more about his Alpha’s early years than he did?

Natasha continued. “He was pre-tracked into STRIKE from the Army. He knew that Eleanor Mott was the only reason he didn’t spend 15 years rotting in prison. He was very loyal to her.”

“How do we know that a Hydra recruiter didn’t get to him first, though?” Maria asked.

“We don’t,” Nat said simply. “We don’t know much of anything. I’m just speculating.”

“None of this does us any good,” Steve snapped. “Who cares who recruited them? They’re Hydra agents! We need to find Bucky. Tony was right. Focusing on Rollins isn’t going to get us anywhere. Turn him over to the feds, and let’s move on.” He stormed out of the room.

Steve knew he was overreacting. He had snapped at his friends, and they didn’t deserve it. But he would have to wait to apologize. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t focus. He was just so angry. He wanted to find Bucky and make sure Rumlow rotted in prison, like he should have when he was younger.

He just wanted to break something. To pull something down and show his strength and get this spike of energy out of his system. He went to the closet-within-a-closet that houses his uniforms, and grabbed his leather gloves and a knife. Both had been gifts from Brock.

The knife had been because of their missions. Brock had told him “I’m not saying you need to use this to kill people. That’s not who you are. But sometimes having a good knife can mean the difference between completing a mission and failing it. That shield of yours can’t cut through rope.” Steve had accepted the knife and tucked it into a pouch on his belt. He’d never needed to use it. It had ended up sharpening his pencils at home.

The gloves though, those had been a gift during Brock’s “subtle courting” days. Steve wasn’t capable of developing callouses. It was a weird quirk of the serum, but his hands always healed lily-soft. That meant his hands were constantly chafing and bleeding. Brock had handed him a pair of beautifully made leather gloves without a word. They were supple and sturdy on the outside, and the inside was soft and snug kidskin. They’d worked perfectly and kept Steve’s hands from getting mangled day after day.

Steve flipped open the knife and pressed the tip into the palm of a glove.

A small, manicured hand closed over his and took the knife. “Waste not, want not,” Natasha whispered. She guided him to sit on his bed, and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. She held him while he cried.

When he had shaken out of it, she disappeared for a few minutes, and came back with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of wine. They spent the day in bed, watching bad action flicks and wallowing in misery. Natasha was a good friend.

The pair reemerged that evening into a living room full of Avengers + Co. “Maria, Clint, I am very sorry about earlier.”

Clint said “You’re good, man,” and Maria nodded with a small smile, and it was time to move on.

“We need to collect Eleanor Mott’s old recruitment files. Anything we can get our hands on. Rollins might have given us more to go on than he intended. There might be something in there we can use. Other than that, we’re going to have to go nose to the ground. We’ll have to find them the old fashioned way. Bucky is still priority one, but Brock can still possibly lead us to him.”

Tony saluted. “We’ve got your back, Cap! Hey Jarvis.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Order me a copy of that “We’ve Got Your Back, Cap!” nurse recruitment poster. I always liked that one.”

“It’s on its way, Sir.”

“Thanks, Jarvis!”

Steve laughed. As hard as this was, he had his team. He needed to remember that.

 

 

Houston was not his favorite place in the world. Sure, it was warm. And there were a million things to do. But the traffic was worse than New York or DC, and that was hard to do. Still, a tip’s a tip. Martinez was here. He knew where the Winter Soldier was.

“Commander,” Martinez acknowledged with a nod. They didn’t know each other well. Martinez started up his Chrysler sedan and unlocked the door to let him in. They drove away from the city.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“Arizona. Don’t ask me why the fuck the Asset is in Arizona.”

“Because he hates the cold,” the Commander explained. Cold was the Winter Soldier’s punishment, and warmth his reward. It made sense he would choose to hide in the desert.

The two men rode in silence. Checked into their respective hotel rooms in silence. Ate in silence. There was nothing to say. They knew their mission: To capture or kill the Winter Soldier, and bring him or his body back to what little remained of Hydra’s central command. The few remaining true believers had been quick to band together and attempt to rebuild. The Commander shook his head, hoping to clear it, and popped some more pills, making it a futile attempt.

The next morning, they met five more Hydra soldiers. All of these men together, they were truly dangerous. They were true believers. So many of Hydra’s followers had come only for convenience or coercion, but these men believed in the vision of the Red Skull. Humanity could not be trusted with their own freedom. They had to be ruled. The Commander shouldered his gun, and put his hand over the picture in his hidden breast pocket for just a moment. One day, maybe….

The Winter Soldier was hiding out in an abandoned gas station. Advertisements for beer cigarettes, and lotto tickets covered the windows. The sign had fallen, and partially covered the door. There were three little spots of blood just outside, the only sign of life.

The Hydra operatives began the attack. They shattered the windows and charged. It would be harder-but-better to take him alive. But even with the element of surprise, the Winter Soldier was hard to catch in unawares. One gunshot, one body. One gunshot, two bodies. The Commander could have laughed. These guys were pathetic.

The Winter Soldier aimed for Martinez and missed, but he had an ace on his side. The Commander shot Martinez in the skull. He ripped his mask off, praying to a god he didn’t believe in after three decades of war that Winter would recognize him.

He did.

But that left three more operatives who now knew he couldn’t be trusted. They converged on him, like idiots. It would have been tactically sound in any other situation, but turning your back on the Winter Soldier was just fucking stupid. Two gunshots, another body.

The Commander could easily take out two men. And he did. Just not before one of them managed to stab him pretty good in the side. The Commander shrugged it off. He’d had worse. Their adversaries dead, the Soldier finally decided to reveal himself. The Commander smiled, and tossed up a hand in greeting. “Winter.”

The man regarded him with no small amount of relief. “Summer.”

He had an ally. They would go off the grid together, wait out the worst of it. There were bases that still needed to be liberated. Then they could assume new identities. Rebuild their lives. It wouldn’t be so bad. But then concern flickered across Winter’s face. “Wha-“ he tried to ask, but he fell to his knees.

“Poison,” Winter whispered.

Summer collapsed. Shit. He couldn’t die now. They had things to do.

Gentle hands picked him up, and gentler lips pressed to his forehead. Winter stood with him in his arms, and he couldn’t register anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but that's necessary because this is a bit transitional.
> 
> Also, sorry about introducing a random OC into this story, but she is actually necessary. She's dead, so she'll never actually be in the story, but she is an important plot device.


End file.
